Sunday Light

Fiction by | May 9, 2010

It is 3 o’clock; the perfect time to have a snack in this cool, air-conditioned restaurant. A couple walks in, trailed by two little children. The man stays at the doorway and surveys the room for a table while the woman heads for the the bar to ask for a highchair. The smaller of the two children, a boy of about three, latches onto his mother’s navy blue skirt. The girl romps her way to the toilet and turns the knob. It is locked. She stamps a foot and runs to her father, who has chosen a table by the window and is now reading the newspaper. He feels his daughter tugging his sleeve. He lowers the paper and glances in the direction of the toilet and pats the chair next to him. Sit down and wait for your turn. But the little girl refuses to sit. Instead, she walks back to the door. She shifts her weight impatiently: first on one leg, and then the other. She does this for a while, the intervals becoming shorter as her discomfort increases. Finally the door opens and an elderly woman walks out.

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Blue Birds of Happiness

Poetry by | March 9, 2009

(after TALA)

Coming back
out from abyss, I am closer
than I have ever been

to be suspended in the air for so long
falling

at the same time not
Shattering is a dream
to break into many pieces
and disperse like steam
off something very, very cold
on a sticky sunny day.

The cold agony
is past comfort
a mother’s embrace that is far away

How could I have known that happiness came in a cage?

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On a Day Like This

Poetry by | January 27, 2008

Hot air filtering through the
window screen eddies
around me as I sit with you
sometimes I expect to see a little smoke
or even an angry fire–feel compelled to
toss whatever object to feed the flames.
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This Origami Life

Poetry by | January 27, 2008

this little origami life
lies on the floor with torn wings
what happened to days meant only
for kissing daisies while standing on pointed toes
was it in my absorption in the bright colors
that time seemed to have stopped and jumped simultaneously?
perhaps i should start counting and recounting petals
the way others do with sheep to dream
isn’t it what you wanted anyway
a math i can never understand
where you and i amount to a ripening womb
whose fruit is neither yours nor mine
sweet nectar ignorant of parched throats of those
whose heads are hanging and have browned–
from thirst of love and truth and life;
innocent and uncorrupted by all that we are

Your Flesh is Sweet

Poetry by | January 27, 2008

Your flesh is sweet
and tender
it melts
on my tongue
a raincloud on
a sunny day
consumed
by a hungry blue-ness
you inhale water
as i do air
and speak in bubbles
that i drown
in my language
to touch your words,
which i will never know.
My catch for the day
fresh from the lake
tomorrow again
another you.