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

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

i met my soul mate last night
he introduced himself as the perfect mix of drunk and high
a crumpled cigarette hung loosely between his lips 
as he intoxicatedly fingered his lighter
i gently replaced his hands with my own
lighting the cigarette with the flick of my thumb
"a beautiful girl who lights my cigarettes?
 they said death would come slow 
 but they didn't say it would come
 with you."

my parents never knew
they never knew that the wooden door of the room they always shut me out of 
when they wanted to "have an adult conversation"
wasn't as good at absorbing the venom they spit at each other as they thought it was
and I heard every word they screamed
and tasted every drop of hate that seeped between the cracks in their voices

and I never told my parents
I never told them 
that I liked the way hate tasted
I liked the way it stung my lips
kind of how
they liked the way it burned each other's hearts
and corroded the memory of the love they once had 
and I let these malicious words tumble around in my head,
breathed them in and blew them off my lips 
like a kiss
of death

and that day you were yelling
it was the same way my mother cursed at my father
and as a broken family's lonely daughter
I did the first thing I thought of
I listed off the vicious vocabulary my parent's never meant to teach me
and I knew that 
if this was a test, I'd made an A plus
as I watched the friendship between us 
crash to the ground and I just stood there because
that's what my father always does 
and everyone says that we're just the same the two of us

with tears in your eyes, I watched you 
turn away and I swear to god I had deja vu 
because you looked just like my mother did the day she 
filed for  a divorce and ripped our family away from me

and that same day your mother found you at the bottom of the stairs
with a still heart and a fixed stare
and that same day I realized that words spoken in such a way
could not only end a marriage but a life
I mean stop a beating heart 
and that same day I promised myself 
that I would never again yell,
never curse at anyone the way my parents taught me
and that is the reason why I am quiet in a crowded room
not because I am intimidated or shy
I'm just trying to swallow 
the snake my parent's fed me long ago

i like the color red your eyes turn
and how it just slightly different from the red of your face
i like the way you slur your words
"i'm drunk off you, you know"
i like the way my accent thickens 
so you have to pull me close to your face to understand me
i like the way you fumble to grab my hand
and then press my fingers to your lips 
i like the awful way you try to growl your 'r's 
"i'm french like you, oui oui"
i like the way you look when you can't find your lighter
and the slight disappointment in your eyes
when i light your cigarette for you
i like the way you quote poetry
like it was written for you to mutter drunkly
i like the way you appreciate things
"the stars, why don't we always look at them?"
i like the way you look
when you're trying to concentrate on the conversation
i like the way you look
when you catch me staring at you
"it's like i see you for the first time all over again,
your stare is so cold but so inviting"
i like the way you're drunk

i can't fill the Sistine Chapel's ceiling
with a mural of my love
the dusty paint bottles in my closet
are not the colors i dedicate to you
my hard and broken brushes
won't show how i fell for you

but i can write you sonnets on napkins
on why your smile outshines the sun
i can fill pads of paper
just about the green of your eye
only in novels can i tell you
of how i reach for you every morning

i can never show the world
the hair that falls in your eye
when you get angry
but i can write
sonnets on
napkins

you stood when you saw me
with a smile that made me giggle
then i can smell you and
i am drunk
you hug me and
you linger
you say my name and
lick you lips
i say yours and
taste the sweetness and
im hungry
we sit
you look in my eyes and
im floating
we talk
each breath pulls us
closer to each other
lights dim and voices hush
you offer yourself as a pillow and
im drifting
you whisper your day in my hair and
i tell jokes in your shirt and
im perfect there

then a screen lights up and
a movie plays and
im realizing
im sitting cold in my own seat
aware of how far you are
from me
the last of your name
melts in my mouth and
im hurting
we try not to make
eye contact

then the movie is over and
you dont say my name again and
you dont look in my eyes and
you go home to another and
im sitting cold in my own seat
aware of how far you are
from me and
im aching

i wrote a song for you
the violins used my spine as a bow
the organs shook with the thunder of my voice
the flutes whistled through my bones
the choir stole the breath from my lungs
and my heartbeat keeps time

there is a moment
after papers are signed and speeches are given
and soldiers exchange their guns
for beers and plane tickets home
and where mother’s tears landed
fields of flowers begin to grow
and man climbs off his bloodied knees, finding balance again
and letters are no longer written as wills
and the growls of bombs that shook the world
stay their thunderous breath
and the earth swallows what man has let fall
and mountains sprout where battlefields lay
there is a moment
of stillness
a quiet lull
where man sees himself
and the mess he has made

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