You came out with it one night, alone in a dark, forbidden, private garden.
We'd been leading to it for months:
"So I was thinking, we should have ***"
Casually presented, I blushed, heart (etc) aflutter - "I beg your pardon?".

An impressionable 15 to your wise 16 years, it was a far cry from the declaration(s) I wanted from you,
I was caught off-guard, still giddy from just being there, but I think even then, even then, I knew.
You turned to me, eyes at half-mast but still with that infuriating twinkle to them.
Then, when I was still more or less innocent, you were the object from which all my dreams would stem.
I would plan my day with you in mind, always in my mind, my nightly rituals, my daily routines,
It was stupid, you were looking (everywhere) elsewhere, I was picturing us as two love-stuck teens.

Love itched rather than burned then, a constant presence I carried everywhere - it was oppressive.
I loved it though, even now when what we share is different, I remember, and I love it.
It hurts, and I still think about it, a lot, and nothing seems to compare to you, to us,
I don't feel like getting out of bed some days, that's not all down to you though,
And it should be easier, but it isn't, and I don't tell anyone I feel like this, because they will judge me, and they will be right to.
I miss you, when we talk, when a radio silence stretches on for weeks, and my perverse take on dedication -  obsessive.

(For Donald Hall)

Have you heard about the boy who walked by
The black water? I won't say much more.
Let's wait a few years. It wanted to be entered.
Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand
Reaches out and pulls him in.

There was no
Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed
Calcium, bones would do. What happened then?

It was a little like the night wind, which is soft,
And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman
In her kitchen late at night, moving pans
About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.

I'm still holding onto lies
(Lies I've heard a thousand times)
They said, "Everything will be alright."
So then, why is nothing fine?

I'm still holding onto dreams,
Dreams that only you could make come true.
But how is it that I still dream?
I cannot sleep because of you.

I've lost all hope
and lost all faith.
You say it wasn't you,
It was my own mistake.

Jealously is ugly.

I’m jealous of the smiles.

Jealously is crude.

I’m jealous of the empty promises.

Jealously is vile.

I’m jealous of the undeserved riches.

Jealously is bitter.

I’m jealous of the family portrait.

Envy is beautiful.

I envy the life you lead.

Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.

I am drinking a beer
And waxing philosophical
On topics like war, and peace
Moby ****
White whales and insane old men
Reminds me of my grandfather
Which brings me to the topic
Of my grandmother
My Japanese grandmother
“coochi” grandma—our name for her
because her yellow skin hung in folds

I am drinking a beer
And the heavy feeling in my head makes me honest
And I am musing about my life and my father
Who has always been the magnet
To my compass
That I have worked so hard to deny
But my needle is true.

I am drinking a beer.
And thinking about my culture
And how I want to visit the bright
Streets of a Japan
That aren’t bright after those quakes
I am thinking about cleaning those streets
And holding the hard, cold men that have lost
Quiet, soft wives, until they are healed.

As always
I'm deliciously jealous
looking
at your profile:
the shadows of other women
flutter through your
cheeks,
and I
do not care,
but I do
in more ways than you will ever understand.