Monthly Archives: May 2013

another chance

years before she became a christian
and embraced the concept of heaven
she hoped her daughters would be reborn
into better lives in less tragic times
into whole families with more capable mothers

a month before she left her homeland
the elder of the two came to her in a dream
there was no resentment, no words of blame
just expressions of grief and longing
a request to come back home

three weeks into their stay at the refugee camp
on the thai side of the khmer-thai border
she birthed a baby girl with two whorls on her head
who grew up with everything she wanted
for her other daughters

patience

you’re going to have to forgive me
for taking so long to reach you
but I’ve only just begun my journey

I would have started sooner, but
had never, in the past, thought
that you might be out there
had not, until now, accepted
that finding you was a possibility

so I’m sorry to have kept you waiting
and I may be a little while yet
but I just wanted to let you know
I’m on my way

onus

he arrived in the middle of night
had been sent by his mother
to sneak her grandchildren away

he had been tasked to return
before the break of dawn
with two boys and one girl
the baby would have to stay

but his sister kept the girl as well
so he would not be overburdened
so the baby would have a sitter
when she was sent to the fields

he left with reluctance
not wanting to disappoint his mother
not wanting to delay the trek

he saved his nephews’ lives
but it was the last time
he saw his niece

boundary

to all the teeny tiny little ants
crawling around in my room

I know it’s that time of year
for you and your brethren
to come up out of your colony
and into my house
looking for water and food
and I’m okay with that, after all
they built our home on top of yours
but let’s make an agreement shall we?

feel free to create meandering pathways
that circle and crisscross and go straight through
electronic devices I thought were sealed
feel free to roam the walls and ceiling
explore the closet, desk, dresser, and floor
besiege the Cadbury egg left over from Easter
and even sip from my bedside glass of water
yes, do all of this with impunity
and I’ll ask only one thing of your swarm

stay off my bed
or more particularly
stay off me while I’m in my bed
sleeping
or I will squish you

oranges

sometimes two or three good segments
were all she could get from each orange
fallen and left to rot beneath the trees
but she gathered them anyway
a few every night, in the dark
after the day’s work was done
peeling and eating the flesh
then burying the rinds in secret

they had forbidden the girls
to pick from the fruit-laden branches
but had said nothing
about harvesting them
off the ground

sleep on it

last night I thought I was ready
to write an angry poem
but halfway down the page
after five or six starts and
just as many abrupt ends
to furious scribbling
I realized I was wrong
that I was just frustrated
by the evening’s conversation
and anger is too powerful
a word to be misused
an emotion to be squandered
to not be directed toward
promoting positive change
so I went to sleep instead

curfew

I’m sorry I laughed
when you stood
in my doorway
this morning
asking about when
I got home last night

I didn’t intend for it
to seem disrespectful
you just looked
so uncomfortable
trying to be stern
and concerned

and it was too funny
the two of us
having this exchange
for the first time
a decade and a half
past my teen years

legacy

with legs swollen
from malnutrition-caused edema
she lay on the sleeping platform
in the family’s single-room hut
listening to her older siblings
bicker around the rice pot
over the meager bit of food
they had to share
their cries of want
and unfairness
and dissatisfaction
prompted her own childlike outburst:
siblings shouldn’t fight
siblings should take care of one another
siblings should share
her statements silenced them
caused them to pause
and ponder in embarrassment
the pleas of a dying four-year-old

I may not have been there
to hear my sister’s last words
but all my life I have benefitted
from their influence

embedded

you are the callus covered
splinter buried at the base
of my right index finger
I thought I could ignore
my way to immunity
from the dull pain
trapped beneath the surface
but two Saturdays ago
when I was walking past
the baker’s stall
at the farmers market
and she grasped my hand
to draw my attention
to the pain d’epis standing
like wheat stalks in a field
I was dismayed
to find that each press
of her palm into mine
produced a twinge
echoed in the center
of my chest

restraint

have I ever?

no, I don’t think

have I?

I don’t remember

–

I cannot recall
the last time
I saw
my mother cry

–

tears seep
from closed lids
like water
from a leaky faucet

the slow formation
of tense droplets
the only outward sign
of so much
internal pressure