The Black Fist
clenched in defiance,
Rebellion.
In contrast to the object’s purpose:
To neaten, to clean up appearances
To conform to what society,
Wants
Wants to see
Wants to observe
Wants to believe
But no, it does not conform
The object has a mind of its own.
Becoming a symbol of
Race
Culture
Defiance
Like the fist it shows.
I ask if they know what the Nutcracker is.
If they know of the hurricane backstage
Excitement almost tangible in the air.
Costumes, makeup, hairpins littering every surface.
“5 minutes before the show starts!”
If they know of the shining lights,
Each of them a little sun
Spotlighting a dancer.
Lighting up her face as she leaps and spins.
Letting the audience see her sparkling eyes and joyful smile.
Painting the words of the nutcracker story with her graceful movements.
Or the long swoosh
As a waterfall of red curtain hides the joyful scene behind it.
The performers finally breaking character
Hugging and giggling
Bittersweet that the show is over.
But they shake their heads
Only knowing of a girl, perhaps.
And a sugar plum fairy?
Oblivious to the many others who help create the story.
They only briefly think of giant itchy pink skirts.
And boring music with no words,
Not of the beautiful work of art.
A calm breeze echoes
through the weeping willows,
unmasking the luscious smell
of sublime spring flowers.
My eyes begin to close
to soak up the sweet serenity.
My skin becomes damp as
raindrops leisurely fall
from the periwinkle sky.
I slowly bend double
and pluck a crisp crimson dahlia
And bring it to my nose.
As I inhale the muted notes of May,
chills run down my spine.
Spring is here.
Nainai said she killed people in this house
Two of her own children,
One was missing a scoop of porridge in his bowl,
One was missing a layer of cotton in his jacket.
They said: “Ma, when we grow up we will build you a big big house,”
“Everyone has their own room” “and two extra rooms”
“Filled with golden manto” “And swan-feather blankets!”
“And peanuts!”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Her own father,
Who one night swallowed twenty extra sleeping pills,
Laid still.
He said: “When you found your love I’ll build you a big new house,
I live in this one, across the street.
So when I make something good, you can get a bowl before it gets cold.”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Her own husband,
Who had personality of flame–selfless, no fear.
He stepped out of the door in his neatly ironed uniform, his back to her.
So far, so near.
He said “The country is a big house, it is my duty, my purpose,
To guard when enemy arise! I promise,
When the country is secured, I will return, and I will never leave your side.”
Nainai said she killed people in this house,
Herself,
The survivor of the chaos, but her soul defeated.
In her hollow shell she had to face the samely hollow,
Collapsing house, unchanged.
She said: “Yujia, next year when you come back to me.
I’ll teach you to build a house.”
There are so many things we can do together –
Watch TV, curled up underneath a blanket.
Read a book, my arm resting on yours.
Rest my head against you and take a nap.
Every day I come home, excited to see you.
We embrace; I’ve never been more comfortable.
When I leave, I wish you could come with me.
But I know you must stay.
When I can’t sleep at night, you’re there for me.
When I need to cry, you’re there for me.
No matter the time,
I know you’re there for me.
Thank you, my beautiful couch.
“will you always be by my side?”
“will you promise to never leave?”
i asked you,
rooted to the earth
with my crooked, gnarly little arms.
yes;
you said, “yes” and showered me with care
and the twinkling of your laughter.
your fluttering, pink wings;
you protected me,
you sheltered me,
and you loved me.
again.
“will you always be by my side?”
“will you promise to never leave?”
but the wind whistled in your place.
you.
your brown,
dull
petals
lie upon the earth.
you left me.
you faded away.
and you were gone.
back then,
i watched as others took photos,
so these fleeting moments
may be eternal for them.
but i must wait.
i miss you.
Her whisper used to linger in my ear,
ringing through my body.
His raspy voice barks words,
which imprint my brain.
Her embrace used to comfort me,
my body would melt from her touch.
His grasp is rough,
never showing me mercy or weakness.
Her eyes were soft with passion,
always watching to make sure I was alright.
His eyes are sharp and lifeless,
ready to criticize my every move.
Her love was beautiful and true,
which never let me feel alone.
His affection leaves marks,
defeating my every breath of confidence.
Her heart got me through his torment.
His torment ended her heart.
Without her I am alone
to deal with his pain
that is forced on me.
Mom, I miss you.
I have a person
That I am thinking about.
The whole story began
Filled with doubt.
Will she want to go out,
My mind feeling unsure.
I stare into her eyes,
Brighter than azure.
But the story continues,
Walking in the pouring rain.
Droplets on her eyelashes, she says yes,
The dragon has been slain.
I have a person
That I am thinking about.
I tell myself that
Everything will work out.
I feel as if I’m invincible,
On God’s good side.
Maybe I’m Icarus because
Did he not die of pride?
Everything feels perfect, sun gleaming,
How could it not?
But when she doesn’t show up,
I become lost in thought.
I have a person
That I am thinking about,
What if the rain of her affection
Stops in a sudden drought.
The story is unwritten,
What will it turn into?
Does my mind deceive me,
Do I need someone new?
I can’t take it anymore,
What if the story ends.
So I ask God about it and
He tells me to stay friends.
I live with the sun.
My sister is 13 years old, and she shines brighter than anyone I’ve ever met.
Her happiness radiates in waves of laughter
And her soul glistens like a diamond in the rough.
I live with the sun.
Her light casts a shadow that is impossible to fill.
Her radiant personality blazes through normality,
Shining down on humanity.
I live with the sun.
My rainy days vanish with her presence.
Her aura beams with confidence and humor
And her laugh illuminates my world.
The scalding swing groans slowly
up and down. The skritch skratch of chalk,
faded colors, walk and wash over
faded colors, layered and sunbleached.
Silver aluminum buttons in the sun-yeowch!
sizzling, consuming blackness.
Hear the slapping of feet against the blackness
a skip and a jump and an “ice cream, ice cream, cherry on top,”
coming closer and closer.
Chasing hands, reaching out to touch,
but just out of reach.
Yelling and pulling
at fistfulls of hair and screeching
with harsh laughter
(disapproving faces look away).
“You’re it!”
and footsteps, out of breath,
loud and gangly, heartbeat drums.
grubby hands knead chocolate, earthen
mulch onto dirty, laughing cheeks and earthen smiles and
“Tag, no tagbacks!”