the way the sunlight comes in through the kitchen window
is my favorite shade of yellow

i saw it when mémé sat me in her sink
and we ate raspberries
i shoved them on the tips of my fingers
and stained them red for a week
i could catch the yellow in my hand

i saw it when mémé shook her head
because tes madeleines sont pas assez cuit
and i rolled my eyes and assured her
i was not going to be a housewife anyway
i could feel it warm my arm

i saw it when mémé giggled
as she snuck me a bottle of wine
i cut my hand trying to open it
and hid it in a shoebox under my bed
i could feel the glimmer on my cheek

i saw it when mémé cried
as she held my chin in her hand
she said being fearless and daring are a bad mix
and it also runs in the family
and i could feel the rays reach across my collar

i see it when i think of mémé
i am no housewife
i struggle open a bottle of wine
and i have a bad mix of hereditary characteristics
mes madeleines sont toujours pas assez cuit
i can catch the yellow in my hand

my father is a fortified man 
with dark, verdant eyes 
that shame the forest moss
that burn harsh and cold
seeing through deception 
honest, stern, but fair

my mother is a gentle woman
with soft, cerulean eyes 
that transcend the clearest sea
that glow bright and warm 
always saying the right thing 
tolerant, caring, but unwavering 

and I was born with that azure gaze 
though mine is not same 
on half my left eye
a drop of my father's jade 
and so I see the world 
as an even balance 
through both my parents eyes

lay your beads
  across your chest
as willows sprout
  where you lay
catch their long tears
  with your fingers
in your stomach
   your cypress blooms
each breath catches
   around her petals
skies drown in
   seas of every hue
the pale moon
   begins to shine
crickets continue
  the bird’s song
lower your eyelids
   to die with the sun