The name came from fields.
Acres of humans forced to work until
They die or are killed.

The rhythm came from drums.
The ones you beat, slap and roll
Off the movement of a tongue.

The steps came from ancestors
Unknown. The only thing they left
Was a rhythm; the symbol
Of a throne, cloned  by those
Who do not know their history or home.

the year we dissected a squid and ate its tentacles piece
by piece down at the pier next to your house was the year
you expanded while I grew into myself .
we kissed one another
like good luck charms ,
like talismans , and used
our bodies in place of
fortune tellers .
I read your palm lines
and came to the conclusion that we would be together forever .
you hated the word forever and settled for a long time .
as we grew more familiar
with one another’s skin ,
I watched my intake .
I wanted nothing but you ,
would inhale nothing but you ,
counted my calories
like sheep before
drifting off to sleep .
the less I ate , the more
room I saved for you .
you wanted to swallow me whole
so I fed myself to you
piece by piece , the tender red flesh of my thumbs
and ******* until they grew bruised
by your mouth .
In those days I ate nothing
but a cup of cold cereal .
when we watched the whales dive in the surf ,
slapping the water like winners of an arm wrestling match ,
you were almost as giant as their cavernous ribs .
I was smaller than the smallest school of fish .
I wanted to fade into you, into the house of your lungs ,
so I spent hours ******* in my ribs in front of the mirror .
we became opposites of one another .
but in the end , my wish to become part of you failed ,
and I simply became the skeleton in your closet instead .

You stepped
Deep into
  The waters
   Of my soul

Patiently you searched
For the precious
     Stone

You found it
Warmed it
  Caressed it
And gave it
  To me
Unselfishly
  As a gift

And now
  It is ours
    And we call it
        Love

A silence with you
Is not
a silence

But a moment rich
with peace

With its three southern branches reaching the Chu border,
And its nine streams touching the gateway of Jing,
This river runs beyond heaven and earth,
Where the colour of mountains both is and is not.
The dwellings of men seem floating along
On ripples of the distant sky --
These beautiful days here in Xiangyang
Make drunken my old mountain heart!

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

I am a woman of society,
I am conditioned to believe my body is not my own,
but the man who decides to take me.
I am helpless without a man because I am weak.
I was a woman of society.
But now, I wish to be, a woman of my own devices.
I am vulnerable, but I am strong.
I am clever, beautiful, and know my own limits.
I, just as all women, have my ways of finding my strength, courage, and confidence.
I will be confident, though you will judge me.
I will be strong, when you try to harm me.
I will be beautiful, because I am me.
I can be all these things, still love a man, and he will still love me.