WordTapestry

the glass between us fish eyes,  squinting through smudged prints on the slick  display glass,  dampened with sweat  and children's stale breath.  'round, 'round, 'round,  watching from a  swimming carousel,  birds of the sea-- floating like clouds toward a sun,  barely there in all that blue.     the algae reaches out,  waving hellohellohellos with flimsy not-quite arms,  brushing  the plasticky walls between us and for a moment,  the quiver of  a bubble before it pops,  it is hard to tell who the visitor is. 

where the hair parts my mother remembers the hairclips I used to wear as a child.  the candied ones,  glistening in her eyes like spun sugar.    I would take them off  when she wasn't around,  afraid  they would slip  from my hair,  like so many leaves floating  down a river.  oh,  to be given love without knowing.  to worry, palms slick, about where  to keep it.  I never lost a single one.  and now  they sleep,  pressed flowers  in ziploc.  dreaming of spring,  with clasps too small to pinch. 

leftovers creak open the freezer,  let the ice  scald my hands,  flushed warm and fuzzy if only  for a moment.  gooseflesh thighs, I'm elbow-deep  in the TV dinners-- mustard yellow smearing across greased panels,  mackerels staring, their  lips sour-puckered. looking  left, right, center-- am I hungry  or just wanting?  for that little something,  somewhere between the coconut curry  and the  convenience store fries-- near a corner of sandwich crust  that something lingers, peanut butter jelly gravy  pooling like  rainy day mud  in her socks. and not daring  to break  the milk-skim silence,  I close the fridge-- leave her,  quietly,  another  fluorescent day-night.  in the  green forest  of  mother's  j iǔcài hézǐ ¹ she will wait,  marinating in  the flavor  I can never bring  for lunch.  __________________ ¹ Chive poc...

praise of folly  dilly-dally  on the stairs,  hopscotch your way one step,  two steps,  three steps above.  gaze into the ceiling,  with its plaster clouds  and charcoal streaks, can you see god  up there? do his dirt-speckled stars warm your face? well, you need not pray, with your  languid eyes shut,  lips stumbling  out of time-- a communion  you can't hold.  tilt up your face, American dream,  hear the angels sing, anointing your  sun-kissed skin,  dripping nectar  down your  eagle's nose. come closer,  let me paint your lips with the  blood of my own-- little fledgling,  smile, won't you make them proud?