Born white
onto my own
boat at sea
‘Tis the privilege,
you see
to seek far off shores
confident and entitled
in every land.
But where is home?
Still alone
in distant lands
Still alone
when nearing the mainland
looking, searching
for the comfort of home, belonging
but no familiarity found
in the sea of other
white faces alone
greeting each other
with a pat on the back
and farewell.
We see boats
intermittent among us
chock full of people of color
taking each others’ hands
and into one another's arms.
What jealousy
we have of belonging,
seeping out of us
in childish hatred and rage,
tantrums sweeping us
into hungry tyrants
without home,
but with power.

A dream a little too literal
for me to take
in a wild dream world
with Grace (Jane Fonda)
as my mother
living in an insane asylum
seeming perfectly sane to me
sometimes fully dressing
and going off into the “normal” world
only to always return
never remembering a single day
that passes
some fresh blood out of college
replaying her day in day out
though she’ll never remember
that either
or does she? Choosing to forget.

I found myself sneaking
into the asylum
in patient dress and messy topknot
my mother always returning
to hers after leaving
though never a day
without eyeliner and mascara.

I wasn’t supposed to be there.

In comes the fresh blood out of college
taking me as another patient
Am I stuck now?

He plays the recording
of the day she just spent
without a memory.
She won’t remember
the recording either,
or does she remember it all,
letting her life be what it is,
a series of defunct rituals
semi-trapped, semi-imprisoned
semi-free, semi-sane?

This slow down
has brought me in
and wrapped me up.
Two months gone
in a flash, yet
so laden with the
weight of sadness,
reeking of death
and others' misery.

I remain swaddled
within the arms
of this strange
veil, sinking into
the tranquility
while amidst
the teeming anxiety
of complete uncertainty
and consistent misinformation.

All I can know
is my own life
and sit in stillness
to the rhythm of
my own heartbeat.

But to sit
fully still and
remain enveloped
in the solitude when
chaos swirls around
is exhausting in some
unexplainable way.

The chaos *****
away even at
those seemingly unaffected,
and perhaps,
I've been thrashing
more than
I've known.

Chaos pulls me in
different directions,
questioning my own luck,
my every move,
my own health,
my mother's health,
my father's health,
siblings' health,
friends' health,
neighbors', strangers',
dogs', and even cats',
and each of their
moves in relation
to mine, whether
I will affect them,
or they me.

Yet at the same time,
this holy pause
swaddles me so
fully that inner peace
overtakes that noise.
But I'm swaddled
so tightly,
I'm paralyzed in
this situation within
gratitude for it and
deep fear of
making a wrong
move if I dare try.