I walked into
An old building
Vacant yet
Lived in

I opened
Door after door
Peering into
New air

I realized
I was searching
For what was
To be

There were
No windows
On the doors
For a reason

I could not peer
Into the future
The past
Was futile

There was
No knowing
Left only to patterns
Or engagement

I could stop
Walking
The corridors
Of this wood abode

One more door
To go
What was next
Solitude or sorrows

As I stood alone
I met the room
With nothing to lose
No compass for death

A ring, not just metal and stone,
but a whispered promise,
a tangible piece of my heart offered to you,
my Dragon Princess of the East.

It sits before me, a vision taking form,
rose gold warmed by imagined sunlight.
Floral vines, delicate yet strong,
climb and twist, embracing the gems.

Amethyst and moonstones,
blossoms of purple and pearly light,
scattered amongst the leaves,
a garden captured in miniature.

Is it engagement, then wedding,
or a seamless blend of both?
The rings intertwined, inseparable,
a symbol of a love without beginning or end.

Alexandrite, chameleons of light,
nestle beside the Amethyst,
their colors shifting, whispering secrets,
a dance of green and purple, a perfect harmony.

And at the heart of it all,
a trillion-cut diamond,
blazing with an inner fire,
a beacon of unwavering brilliance.

The ring is not alone.
Dangle earrings echo its beauty,
Royal cut Alexandrites cascading,
from small to large, a symphony of color.

Three stones aligned,
a delicate dance of light and shadow,
catching the ear, whispering of magic,
a perfect complement to the ring's embrace.

And then, the necklace,
a tear-shaped Alexandrite pendant,
resting against the alabaster skin,
a single drop of captured starlight.

It hangs suspended,
a breath held, a moment frozen,
a promise whispered against the skin,
a symbol of a love that transcends time.

The entire set, a constellation of dreams,
born from my heart, offered to you,
a testament to a love that blooms eternal,
A Circlet of Dreams, waiting to be worn.

In between the lines
There's the hint at some opinion
And not just pictures you hang crooked
On flimsy nails you drive.
I'd rather keep the vocabulary
Short & simple,
If there's more from it
Who might be reached
Or that might be derived.

I know you think you're something
Just as much as I,
I know I think you're something
Just as much as I.

If you can't see, you can have mine;
I've already given up on one eye.
If you can't sense it,
I can go on deprived.
To me it makes no difference,
I'm only trying to help.
Come what may, I'll survive.

cheap perfume, dreadful news, i pay my dues while
miss drunk and deluded decides to trip all over my shoes
i'm her champagne flush, a nicotine rush, and her unrequited crush
but the only thing i ever notice is how the crowds hush

when you start humming tunes, singing blues, like you always do
your smile subtle, warm, holding far more joy than it ever used to
i sold your ring to the highest bidder, but my best friend actually likes you
he persuaded me to donate it all, it’s what you would've wanted me to do

so while tonight is all cheap perfume, dreadful news, and paying dues  
when miss drunk and deluded once again steps all over my poor shoes
it's easy to smile and stay calm because i'm drunk and deluded, too
and when i dance with my eyes closed, i am slow waltzing with you

humming tunes, singing blues, dancing jewels
miss looking for love is dancing all over your leather shoes
over uneven pavement, over failed engagements
i sent your ring back, i couldn't bear to see it, nor sell it

even now, my six-eight time signatures are still bringing
your custom-length tailcoats to a Viennese waltzing
all while your upper-echelon friends keep pretending
like they don't find satisfaction in my subtle mourning

tonight is all humming tunes, singing blues, and dancing jewels  
i am still lingering, still humming our tunes, still singing our blues,
i am still feigning ignorance, and my finger is still missing a jewel,
i am still center stage, but someone else dances with you

he said 'wedlock' anti-amorous lead clocked signing them contracted away from their grieving animal truths boothed in a partner grip that'll mend them toward social safety

Annick (my 28 year old sister) came down to NYC, from Boston, for a day visit. It was one of those warm, cerulean days between Christmas and New Years. Annick’s in a surgical residence, in a pandemic, but still somehow, she got away.

We’re dining on a shaded, outdoor, sundeck - I arrived first, by a moment but then the elevator opened and Annick emerged, looking like a model - familiar but I don’t know - more completely adult - more than ever like my mom. It was all I could do not to weep for happiness when we hugged.

After that long hug, Annick gave my clothes a slow, censorious looking-over. When my mom and I shopped for “school clothes” last year, in Paris, I bought some stunning designer (Anna Molinari) clothes - only to find out they were completely out of place at Yale. Now they’re sentenced to a trunk under my bed and my replacement clothes are from FatFace and Patagonia. Ordinary clothes, bought for their ordinariness.

I’ve been dressing to disappear but I wanted her to see a “new me.” How I’ve survived in a rough, academic country - not just survived - but thrived. I also wanted her to think her sister was beautiful and hoped I didn’t seem too strange. She cupped my chin - just like my mom does - “You look wonderful,” she said.

Annick mentioned we’d have company for lunch but she was alone - then this tall, fair-haired, man was with us. He slipped his arm around Annick’s waist and they smiled, together. I’d never met one of Annick's boyfriends before so this was a little disconcerting - part of me wanted to pull her away and say, “MINE!”

Annick made the introductions, “Anais, this is Gerard - Gerard, Anais.”  Gerard leaned into la bise then half hugged me, patting me bearishly on the back. I decided he was too tall and too handsome and began to examine him for flaws.

He wore a dark-charcoal-gray cashmere suit with a light-gray oxford-cloth shirt. “Are you always so dapper?” I asked? “I wanted to look substantial,” he said, with a very slight French accent. He held me at arm’s length. “You’re definitely sisters,” he said, smiling.

We settled in. At first we were a little stilted with each other, uncertain how to best introduce ourselves. Annick said that Gerard is a “Child Neurologist.” “Funny,” I said, “you look older.” and he laughed. I was warming to him.

“How’s school going?” Annick asked later, moving some of my fly-away hair out of my face - a trace of the maternal in her solicitous fussing - but I liked it.
“Easy peasy,” I said, the lie warming me like an ember or black magic.

There’s no real sibling rivalry between us. Imagine you’re Beyoncé’s sister, what are the odds that you’ll eclipse Beyoncé? Yeah, it’s ZERO.

“Ha!” she laughs, “you are such a little fibber.”
“I am NOT,” I hotly say, but my defense is ruined by my laugh. “I’m doing ok - but it’s a lot,” I say, to erase the fib.

They’re ENGAGED!
I tried not to act stunned but I doubt I was very convincing. The news thumped me like a gust of wind. Suddenly, I knew. Our yesterdays were no more substantial than a story we’d read together growing up, that you can mourn and rejoice at the same time.

Otherwise it was a family lunch, although at first I was a bit nervous around Gerard. At one point Annick says, “What are you doing?” as the table gently quivered.
I smiled wincingly, “Making circles with my ankles,” I said.
Annick smiled knowingly.