just because he can’t be a pilot
doesn’t mean he won’t still fly
as boldly as any brushstroke
van gogh ever painted on canvas
and if he starts wearing chucks
with mismatched socks like grandpa
i’ll start doing the same under my levi’s
so don’t worry about passing those genes
from your father to your son
as his mother you get to teach him to see
the beauty in the world that he’s taking in
through all of his senses
and sight
that’s just one of them

my earliest jackfruit memories
are deliciously bright yellow
sugar syrup-soaked sticky
and pasteurized
with the slight metallic tang
of aluminum cans

but now that i have experienced
the pale to gold-yellow
floral-sweet crunch
of bulbs so fresh
that sap from the peel
makes my fingers stick
there is no going back

the color
of her hair
won’t change
that attitude
been going gray
since high school
be acting a teen
even after
all the black
grows up
and out

i am still
as clueless
about your research
as ever

but i did learn
a little squinting
turns flourescence-stained
virus-infected neural cells
into blurry fireworks

each bright sphere
celebrating
your achievement

i sat the afternoon
admiring the domed moon
as she steadily rose
over blooming magnolias

but the ever-perfect sun
not to be outshone
burned her jealous gaze
upon my face

everyone’s walking around
balboa park’s lily pond
with camera (phone) in hand
looking for the right spot to
pause just long enough to
compose a shot
focus on a bloom or two
snap a photo
check the result
be satisfied
and walk on

doesn’t seem like enough
time to truly appreciate
the beauty, but
at least they’re not
blocking my view
for too long

your daughter gave you a card
and in it, she wrote
“i love you with all my heart and body”

i laughed first
then wondered
whether she had heard that phrase
from someone or somewhere
or if she had come up with it
on her own

because maybe at seven
she already knows
love isn’t confined
to her heart or even her head
but flows
through her entire body
like an electric current
drawing those she loves
to her
like a magnet

the braided money tree
has frayed
the loose strands
unraveled
have been pulled free
one by one
leaving a lone stalk
the survivor
standing strong
but still weaving
around memories
of lost siblings

give me a square of paper
and i can return it
a tulip forever in bloom
a crane that will never fly away
a box to hold your treasures
or i could fold it
into a heart
with my name hidden
in the creases
and ask you
to please be gentle
lest it rip