Poetry Submissions
We would like to sincerely thank all of you who contributed to this project. If you would like to submit a poem to be included in the installation, please click here.
List of contributing artists:
List of contributing artists:
|
Hafsa Akter
Jacqueline Allen Larisa Peñaloza Almazán Jessica Alvarado Nirmun Aulakh Ana Bach Mikayla Bailey Jean Biegun Lauren Broker Marah Carney Helen Chow Kylie Crisostomo-Rickman Sarah Days |
Joshua Ekstrom
Ellie Feder Alex Garber Candela Graciarena Cristina Gomez Lila Janick Grace Johnson Namrata Kasaraneni Mostafa Khazaei Angela Lee Jayna Lizama Helen Mark Amaya Maulino |
Eva Nemirovsky
Ryan Nishikawa Melody Quevedo Cami Rothmuller Tara Saeed Jesse Saldivar Ann Savageau Jamie Serrano Binti Sohn- Akshat Tiwari Emma Tolliver Pachia Vang Rova Yilmaz Zita Wong |
Hafsa Akter
Jacqueline Allen
disconnect-
there’s jello on the shelf across me
the good kind, red
like the blood they took this morning
devoured - desired - far from me
far enough to lose all connection to
what would we be if we bled blue?
who am i to say i do not
but blood is red is normal to be such
is known and i know
i bled red
stained across the blanket of stares
lost amidst a constant sting of- having to breathe
but as it breeds tied to my veins
i realize just how far from normal
red blooded people see me as
tub tunes
red was her favorite color
for she wanted to know fire
burn instead of soak
in pools of her own water
drowning under layers of-
validate
her truth seeps from buried emotion
overflowing
silent- so no one will know
screaming through forced smiles
whispers crawling against her breast
burrowing beneath crevices of old wounds
she tells me
burning would be better
pain hurts less than choking on nothingness
with what is left
it is not apple season.
i am not a seed.
you are not my keeper.
are we animals?
raw
alive
-alone together
in my house of
overgrown vines
there’s jello on the shelf across me
the good kind, red
like the blood they took this morning
devoured - desired - far from me
far enough to lose all connection to
what would we be if we bled blue?
who am i to say i do not
but blood is red is normal to be such
is known and i know
i bled red
stained across the blanket of stares
lost amidst a constant sting of- having to breathe
but as it breeds tied to my veins
i realize just how far from normal
red blooded people see me as
tub tunes
red was her favorite color
for she wanted to know fire
burn instead of soak
in pools of her own water
drowning under layers of-
validate
her truth seeps from buried emotion
overflowing
silent- so no one will know
screaming through forced smiles
whispers crawling against her breast
burrowing beneath crevices of old wounds
she tells me
burning would be better
pain hurts less than choking on nothingness
with what is left
it is not apple season.
i am not a seed.
you are not my keeper.
are we animals?
raw
alive
-alone together
in my house of
overgrown vines
Larisa Peñaloza Almazán
un abrazo tuyo
un abrazo tuyo
es como tomar un baño tibio
tus brazos, el agua
la que fluye libremente
la que toca sin juzgar
me dan escalofríos al primer toque
dejó que la regadera caliente mi piel
un calor en el que encuentro mayor comodidad
libre de sentir, libre de hacer
se me olvida que pasa el tiempo
y no me quiero salir
pero recuerdo que todo pronto llegará a su fin
entonces,
báñame una y otra vez
para sentirme limpia y liberada
cumplida y amada
para salir y poder ver
el espejo, lleno de vapor
en el que escribiré nuestros sueños
y dibujaré dos triskeles
para que sepas
que eres el dueño de mi corazón
un abrazo tuyo
es como tomar un baño tibio
tus brazos, el agua
la que fluye libremente
la que toca sin juzgar
me dan escalofríos al primer toque
dejó que la regadera caliente mi piel
un calor en el que encuentro mayor comodidad
libre de sentir, libre de hacer
se me olvida que pasa el tiempo
y no me quiero salir
pero recuerdo que todo pronto llegará a su fin
entonces,
báñame una y otra vez
para sentirme limpia y liberada
cumplida y amada
para salir y poder ver
el espejo, lleno de vapor
en el que escribiré nuestros sueños
y dibujaré dos triskeles
para que sepas
que eres el dueño de mi corazón
Jessica Alvarado
To heal
Grief of a fulfilled life unlived
Freedom is costly
Risk and uncertainty
Evolved from nature
Fleeing feeds fear
Onward despite the spear
The war is over
Just be
A valued life
Demands discomfort
Better a valued life than
Pain-free
Grief of a fulfilled life unlived
Freedom is costly
Risk and uncertainty
Evolved from nature
Fleeing feeds fear
Onward despite the spear
The war is over
Just be
A valued life
Demands discomfort
Better a valued life than
Pain-free
Nirmun Aulakh
Lost in Hope
Hope.
People say when you die, you take nothing with you,
I say if you love someone you take them with you,
I know it’s a hope to keep living and loving them for eternity,
We hold onto it so we can keep going,
Going with the life we want,
Going with flow, the momentum of breathing.
Hope.
The emotion we carry to our grave.
If we loose it, we are lost and have no,
Urge to even love ourselves,
When you loose someone,
You hold on, hold on to the hope of them coming back,
A miracle that may never happen,
We hold on to it because we want to live,
A life without them,
And the moment this tiny space of hope is gone,
We go with it.
Hope.
Something to remember the loved ones by.
Something to be principled by.
Something to smile about.
Something to give, because if you have it then it’s easy to give as well,
As other need it too.
It’s a necessity.
Hope. An emotion, a need of daily living.
Hope.
People say when you die, you take nothing with you,
I say if you love someone you take them with you,
I know it’s a hope to keep living and loving them for eternity,
We hold onto it so we can keep going,
Going with the life we want,
Going with flow, the momentum of breathing.
Hope.
The emotion we carry to our grave.
If we loose it, we are lost and have no,
Urge to even love ourselves,
When you loose someone,
You hold on, hold on to the hope of them coming back,
A miracle that may never happen,
We hold on to it because we want to live,
A life without them,
And the moment this tiny space of hope is gone,
We go with it.
Hope.
Something to remember the loved ones by.
Something to be principled by.
Something to smile about.
Something to give, because if you have it then it’s easy to give as well,
As other need it too.
It’s a necessity.
Hope. An emotion, a need of daily living.
Ana Bach
Intimacy Chokehold
Today I choose to pause my fear of touch
Hoping palms meet without resist to warmth
I wish that they would get the pulsing hunch
And most of all to keep our hands up north
It is difficult to see others pleased
Why do I face a spar to feel the same?
Trusting that I will never be intrigued
But what if that leads me to being seized?
Struggling to find the words to explain
No person to find comfort in this sea
The ones I hold close understand my pain
If only my mind would just let me be
I still have yet to meet my fear of touch
Begging to break out from what is too much
Today I choose to pause my fear of touch
Hoping palms meet without resist to warmth
I wish that they would get the pulsing hunch
And most of all to keep our hands up north
It is difficult to see others pleased
Why do I face a spar to feel the same?
Trusting that I will never be intrigued
But what if that leads me to being seized?
Struggling to find the words to explain
No person to find comfort in this sea
The ones I hold close understand my pain
If only my mind would just let me be
I still have yet to meet my fear of touch
Begging to break out from what is too much
Mikayla Bailey
Growing Pains
If it wasn't for the ache in my heart, making every breath feel heavy,
I would have never known the relief of inhaling with ease.
If it wasn't for the tears in my eyes, making my vision dull and blurry,
I would have never noticed how vibrant colors seem.
If it wasn’t for the absence of others, forcing me to face feeling lonely,
I would have never been able to thrive in self-sufficiency.
Healing isn’t easy, but should it really be?
Because if we don’t try to heal, how can we set ourselves free?
If it wasn't for the ache in my heart, making every breath feel heavy,
I would have never known the relief of inhaling with ease.
If it wasn't for the tears in my eyes, making my vision dull and blurry,
I would have never noticed how vibrant colors seem.
If it wasn’t for the absence of others, forcing me to face feeling lonely,
I would have never been able to thrive in self-sufficiency.
Healing isn’t easy, but should it really be?
Because if we don’t try to heal, how can we set ourselves free?
Jean Biegun
Guardian of the Heart
My wrecked heart--
O turn, turn O soul in me
Try to find some light
Lift me from the ovum dark
Birth me into salvation
Or heaven
Or whatever samadhi
Exists past this hardening world
Give me new guts and bones
My own are rent
Sucked out by the drear
All juice gone
Fill again my being
Share with me some love
My wrecked heart--
O turn, turn O soul in me
Try to find some light
Lift me from the ovum dark
Birth me into salvation
Or heaven
Or whatever samadhi
Exists past this hardening world
Give me new guts and bones
My own are rent
Sucked out by the drear
All juice gone
Fill again my being
Share with me some love
Lauren Broker
papillon
Why am I not allowed to grieve?
For the past
Or mourn the future I did not let myself receive
For all of the years I could have spent
Truthful in my own.
I can miss her and how it felt to be loved as her
Without wanting or needing to go back
I do not lie when I say that sometimes
I still crave your validation
Some confirmation
That I haven’t made a mistake
That I deserve or can earn your love
In my new state.
That my mourning is not hurt but healing
Relearning to grow with hope for the future
You can yearn for the past but I will not cry
You can miss her long hair and lipsticked smile
But they deserve your love too.
Why am I not allowed to grieve?
For the past
Or mourn the future I did not let myself receive
For all of the years I could have spent
Truthful in my own.
I can miss her and how it felt to be loved as her
Without wanting or needing to go back
I do not lie when I say that sometimes
I still crave your validation
Some confirmation
That I haven’t made a mistake
That I deserve or can earn your love
In my new state.
That my mourning is not hurt but healing
Relearning to grow with hope for the future
You can yearn for the past but I will not cry
You can miss her long hair and lipsticked smile
But they deserve your love too.
Marah Carney
Daughter in Waiting
I am growing quiet
I flirted with hibernation
I teased a taciturned lifestyle
I leave luridness
I desensationalize my sex
I left uncomfortably loud girlhood
For a smaller thing called
Womanhood
And I will die a daughter in waiting
And then I'll become worm food
And I'll feel light
Important
Genderless
Altogether
Vermiformed.
- mar
Tub Soup
before my mother left me at an airport curb
with a red face and crinkled $20 bill
she told me to stop wasting the hot water
so i take a bath everyday
after i was raped i silently made my way back to my dorm room
i shed all of my clothing to keep in a pile for 8 days
then i showered and discovered
my blood and bruises
so i take a bath everyday
when i read that it takes seven years to have
entirely new skin
i began to soak my shedding feet
after another 9 mile day
peeling away the skin like it was a mandatory chore
my soles were carrots to be shredded for
tub soup
to be brand new
so neither of them would have ever touched me
so i take a bath everyday
-mar
I am growing quiet
I flirted with hibernation
I teased a taciturned lifestyle
I leave luridness
I desensationalize my sex
I left uncomfortably loud girlhood
For a smaller thing called
Womanhood
And I will die a daughter in waiting
And then I'll become worm food
And I'll feel light
Important
Genderless
Altogether
Vermiformed.
- mar
Tub Soup
before my mother left me at an airport curb
with a red face and crinkled $20 bill
she told me to stop wasting the hot water
so i take a bath everyday
after i was raped i silently made my way back to my dorm room
i shed all of my clothing to keep in a pile for 8 days
then i showered and discovered
my blood and bruises
so i take a bath everyday
when i read that it takes seven years to have
entirely new skin
i began to soak my shedding feet
after another 9 mile day
peeling away the skin like it was a mandatory chore
my soles were carrots to be shredded for
tub soup
to be brand new
so neither of them would have ever touched me
so i take a bath everyday
-mar
Helen Chow
死亡
死亡是另一種生存的開始。
死亡
只是將靈魂的服飾
脱下肉身的軀壳
去一個
平靜,寧靜, 安樂, 安祥的地方。
那裏
没有世俗的煩囂, 心靈的痛楚,
疾病的折磨,
對將來的憂慮,
對現狀的焦慮,
没有生活旳變化, 喜樂, 悲傷。
只有寧, 只有靜, 只有安, 沒有樂。
你要嗎? 你喜歡嗎? 太平淡嗎?
假以時日, 悶了,
神仙也披上肉身的衣裳....下凡。
皇帝也想試做平民....下鄉
再作一次生命的循環,
你永遠不會亡, 不會滅。
好嗎? 累嗎? 可怕嗎?
宇宙是一道大大大的能量,
你是其中一粒星,
如沙漠的一粒沙,
大海的一滴水, 循環不息。
麥智賢二零一七年七月十七日寫於華盛頓洲愛民思市
Twenty, Twenty-six (Sandy Hook shooting Dec.2015)
Twenty first graders, six educators are in peace.
I know there is still Joy and Light.
God gives everyone a free will.
A will to live and love, a will to hate and kill.
Shell of gun control is harder than the bullet.
My heart oozed with tears, yet not a drop dropped.
I feel for the parents for I am a parent.
I feel for the teachers for I am a teacher.
I feel for the grannies for I am a grandma.
For the children who watched their friends die
How shakened, frightened, desperate
It must have been for the pure little souls.
May they grow up with strength,
Through the power of Tolerance and Acceptance
To the adversities of Life.
Compassionate and forgiving to those who
Suffer physically and mentally
In the Ocean of Love and Peace of God.
How do I miss thee?
How do I miss thee?
How do i love you?
Why don't I miss you
When you can breathe, eat, eat, hear and talk?
You lingered on even when your heart stopped.
You didnt want to leave when I was by your side.
You saved your last breath for me.
Did you hear me?
Did you know I was there holding your hands,
Praying for you, with you,
Comforting you in your last ten hours?
Please tell me....
Yes, I hear, I know....My daughter.
I am going to Peace.
(Dec 3, 2009 3:30am Cleveland, Ohio)
Inside Tears
I want to cry.
I don't want to cry.
I want to cry.
Tears won't come as the eyes bid.
Inside tears drip silently, secretly.
They lock the heart, the mind, the soul,
Dumb the open cry for help, for consolation,
Creating scars layer by layer
Like an onion...called Depression
Waiting to be peeled, to be healed.
They need to be sliced painfully
With Acceptance of the Presence,
Forgetfulness of the Past,
Detachment to someone....dead or alive.
Open tears will come, should come, can come
With efforts, determination and Love
Talking to friends, counsellors can help.
Talking to the Supreme Soul is the best.
死亡是另一種生存的開始。
死亡
只是將靈魂的服飾
脱下肉身的軀壳
去一個
平靜,寧靜, 安樂, 安祥的地方。
那裏
没有世俗的煩囂, 心靈的痛楚,
疾病的折磨,
對將來的憂慮,
對現狀的焦慮,
没有生活旳變化, 喜樂, 悲傷。
只有寧, 只有靜, 只有安, 沒有樂。
你要嗎? 你喜歡嗎? 太平淡嗎?
假以時日, 悶了,
神仙也披上肉身的衣裳....下凡。
皇帝也想試做平民....下鄉
再作一次生命的循環,
你永遠不會亡, 不會滅。
好嗎? 累嗎? 可怕嗎?
宇宙是一道大大大的能量,
你是其中一粒星,
如沙漠的一粒沙,
大海的一滴水, 循環不息。
麥智賢二零一七年七月十七日寫於華盛頓洲愛民思市
Twenty, Twenty-six (Sandy Hook shooting Dec.2015)
Twenty first graders, six educators are in peace.
I know there is still Joy and Light.
God gives everyone a free will.
A will to live and love, a will to hate and kill.
Shell of gun control is harder than the bullet.
My heart oozed with tears, yet not a drop dropped.
I feel for the parents for I am a parent.
I feel for the teachers for I am a teacher.
I feel for the grannies for I am a grandma.
For the children who watched their friends die
How shakened, frightened, desperate
It must have been for the pure little souls.
May they grow up with strength,
Through the power of Tolerance and Acceptance
To the adversities of Life.
Compassionate and forgiving to those who
Suffer physically and mentally
In the Ocean of Love and Peace of God.
How do I miss thee?
How do I miss thee?
How do i love you?
Why don't I miss you
When you can breathe, eat, eat, hear and talk?
You lingered on even when your heart stopped.
You didnt want to leave when I was by your side.
You saved your last breath for me.
Did you hear me?
Did you know I was there holding your hands,
Praying for you, with you,
Comforting you in your last ten hours?
Please tell me....
Yes, I hear, I know....My daughter.
I am going to Peace.
(Dec 3, 2009 3:30am Cleveland, Ohio)
Inside Tears
I want to cry.
I don't want to cry.
I want to cry.
Tears won't come as the eyes bid.
Inside tears drip silently, secretly.
They lock the heart, the mind, the soul,
Dumb the open cry for help, for consolation,
Creating scars layer by layer
Like an onion...called Depression
Waiting to be peeled, to be healed.
They need to be sliced painfully
With Acceptance of the Presence,
Forgetfulness of the Past,
Detachment to someone....dead or alive.
Open tears will come, should come, can come
With efforts, determination and Love
Talking to friends, counsellors can help.
Talking to the Supreme Soul is the best.
Kylie Crisostomo-Rickman
the forest where we are okay
The redwood forest is the best place
to heal a broken heart
to look upon the scattered light
how it changes the scene
with every second
of the sun rising and falling.
I am not okay in
the concrete walls of what feels like
is supposed to be our house-
we are not okay there.
But Here,
Here
under the impressively tall reassuring redwoods
Here
touching the cool shimmering creek
Here
discovering mushrooms with childlike excitement
Here
our silence is our awe instead of our brokenness
Here, we are okay.
The redwoods makes us okay,
I only wish we never had to leave.
The redwood forest is the best place
to heal a broken heart
to look upon the scattered light
how it changes the scene
with every second
of the sun rising and falling.
I am not okay in
the concrete walls of what feels like
is supposed to be our house-
we are not okay there.
But Here,
Here
under the impressively tall reassuring redwoods
Here
touching the cool shimmering creek
Here
discovering mushrooms with childlike excitement
Here
our silence is our awe instead of our brokenness
Here, we are okay.
The redwoods makes us okay,
I only wish we never had to leave.
Sarah Days
MY HEART CRIES LOUD
silence does not describe my heartache
my heart cries loud
so often it is said
that there are no words
to describe the pain
yet i have found
that i have too many words
that i want to say
or wish i’d said
there is a million things
i want to scream
a million more
i want to cry.
silence does not describe my heartache
my heart cries loud
silence does not describe my heartache
my heart cries loud
so often it is said
that there are no words
to describe the pain
yet i have found
that i have too many words
that i want to say
or wish i’d said
there is a million things
i want to scream
a million more
i want to cry.
silence does not describe my heartache
my heart cries loud
Joshua Ekstrom
Evening at the Theater
once upon a time
there was a great grand dance
sublime
you prayed it last forever
though despite your best endeavors
you couldn't stop the passage
of time
they exited stage left
for a moment you felt bereft
but found yourself holding your breath
awaiting what next you might
find
once upon a time
there was a great grand dance
sublime
you prayed it last forever
though despite your best endeavors
you couldn't stop the passage
of time
they exited stage left
for a moment you felt bereft
but found yourself holding your breath
awaiting what next you might
find
Ellie Feder
Washing My Hands
my hands aren’t as soft as they used to be
I still care for them the same, the way I was taught as a kid
except now they look a little different, they feel different too
they’re spotted and rougher
they’ve done more, so, I’ve had to wash them more, scrub them more
I’ve done more, so I’ve had to cleanse them more, rub them more
people come and go around me, and though I welcome it, it's messier
so I’ve had to wash my hands, douse, abrade, rinse. scrape, bathe, and soak.
purge the impurities and tally the seconds.
sterilize the field, then rush it again.
let the water run clear, and now an encore.
I am happy to be living more, my hands don’t show it though.
life is more complicated and I think I’m handling it well.
but my hands aren’t as soft as they used to be
I still care for them the same, the way I was taught as a kid
except now they look a little different, they feel different too
they’re spotted and rougher
they’ve done more, so, I’ve had to wash them more, scrub them more
I’ve done more, so I’ve had to cleanse them more, rub them more
people come and go around me, and though I welcome it, it's messier
so I’ve had to wash my hands, douse, abrade, rinse. scrape, bathe, and soak.
purge the impurities and tally the seconds.
sterilize the field, then rush it again.
let the water run clear, and now an encore.
I am happy to be living more, my hands don’t show it though.
life is more complicated and I think I’m handling it well.
but my hands aren’t as soft as they used to be
Alex Garber
to greta
in jebenhausen in think forest
they put the cows in we search nearest
and greta ran away where the bones must lay
in baden-baden to be sick is to be cunning
she’s a naked handmaiden to forget is to be running
soaked like prey and today is feast day
in schwarzwald in green night
Brothers grimm recalled she sips on plight
to be turned child’s play drunk in your ashtray
a girl not far from her
in jebenhausen in think forest
they put the cows in we search nearest
and greta ran away where the bones must lay
in baden-baden to be sick is to be cunning
she’s a naked handmaiden to forget is to be running
soaked like prey and today is feast day
in schwarzwald in green night
Brothers grimm recalled she sips on plight
to be turned child’s play drunk in your ashtray
a girl not far from her
Candela Graciarena
Tesoro
spongy, malleable material of a precious treasure
sturdy or weak depending on the wielder
correcting our shortcomings of biology with
blinding truth, obsidian imagination
creation and devastation
strings of limbs, vats of hot blood,
the crunching of fruit branches as they curve,
cradling, crackling, possessing a burning warmth
that you held me with, so delicately
embedding 21 ounces into my nuclei
my blooming, not a tear away from your reckoning
spongy, malleable material of a precious treasure
sturdy or weak depending on the wielder
correcting our shortcomings of biology with
blinding truth, obsidian imagination
creation and devastation
strings of limbs, vats of hot blood,
the crunching of fruit branches as they curve,
cradling, crackling, possessing a burning warmth
that you held me with, so delicately
embedding 21 ounces into my nuclei
my blooming, not a tear away from your reckoning
Cristina Gomez
Tu muerte me duele
Tu muerte
Me duele mucho
En el centro de mi cuerpo y mi alma
Me agüita
Me deprime
Me pesa en los hombros
En los ojos
Me duele mucho
Que perdí a mi mami
A mi mamá
Quien me enseñó amar
Busco tu alma
Que vive libre
En el aire, pajaritos, árboles, sol, y mariposas
Allí vive tu alma
Tu abrazo
Tu amor.
New Grief
Grief
Has taken on a more expansive form
It has filled my world
A bit more.
Since the loss of my mother, and my friend
Grief has reached more
Of my life and world
Death is relentless.
Unyielding.
Someday it will reach all that my love holds
Someday it will reach me.
Tu muerte
Me duele mucho
En el centro de mi cuerpo y mi alma
Me agüita
Me deprime
Me pesa en los hombros
En los ojos
Me duele mucho
Que perdí a mi mami
A mi mamá
Quien me enseñó amar
Busco tu alma
Que vive libre
En el aire, pajaritos, árboles, sol, y mariposas
Allí vive tu alma
Tu abrazo
Tu amor.
New Grief
Grief
Has taken on a more expansive form
It has filled my world
A bit more.
Since the loss of my mother, and my friend
Grief has reached more
Of my life and world
Death is relentless.
Unyielding.
Someday it will reach all that my love holds
Someday it will reach me.
Lila Janick
I am a Scientist
I am a scientist. I trust; facts, data, numbers
I find comfort in my spreadsheets.
I see science, and people’s distrust
I see the death counts, Rising hate and pain
The numbers … don’t look good.
I see it's not getting better
I see no reason to think it will
But my Big Brother has hope
He believes in the future, in goodness... in me.
And so, like a bad scientist, I ignore the data
And hope anyway.
I am a scientist. I trust; facts, data, numbers
I find comfort in my spreadsheets.
I see science, and people’s distrust
I see the death counts, Rising hate and pain
The numbers … don’t look good.
I see it's not getting better
I see no reason to think it will
But my Big Brother has hope
He believes in the future, in goodness... in me.
And so, like a bad scientist, I ignore the data
And hope anyway.
Grace Johnson
Body Aches
I reek of pain.
A
Moment of peace, please.
So I can focus
On my trajectory
To be a token health and prosperity
In ways only few can dream of.
Reviving myself from nearly dead,
Enters my lust for living, breathing,
Dying.
I reek of pain.
A
Moment of peace, please.
So I can focus
On my trajectory
To be a token health and prosperity
In ways only few can dream of.
Reviving myself from nearly dead,
Enters my lust for living, breathing,
Dying.
Namrata Kasaraneni
Prayer for the Guardians
Build my body up
out of what has already
lived & died. Give me
scissor eyes so I won’t
be afraid, anymore, of seeing
what has severed in me.
Call it healing. Fill
my hollow body
with an hourglass run dry,
a bluebird filling every empty
wound with song. Listen:
there is something beyond
this death. There is something
beyond this death.
Build my body up
out of what has already
lived & died. Give me
scissor eyes so I won’t
be afraid, anymore, of seeing
what has severed in me.
Call it healing. Fill
my hollow body
with an hourglass run dry,
a bluebird filling every empty
wound with song. Listen:
there is something beyond
this death. There is something
beyond this death.
Mostafa Khazaei
مصطفی خزایی
1.
بچه که بودم
خانه ای کشیدم
با در های بسته
سالهاست
…به دنبال کلیدم
When I was a child
I built a house
With closed doors
It's been years
Looking for my key…
2.
عادت کرده ام
گوشه ای بایستم
و به آدم های زیادی فکر کنم.
به خستگی های ساده
و تشنگی های عمیقی
که بی نوبت می آیند
تا در من
زخم های بیشماری را
.حک کرده باشند
I'm used to it
I stand in a corner
And I think of a lot of people.
Of simple behaviors
And social thirst
That come in turn
Up on me
To engrave countless wounds.
3.
به قبرستان می برم
حرف هایم را
مرده ها
خود را به خواب نمی زنند.
I'm bringing my words
To the cemetery
the dead
Do not fall asleep.
Angela Lee
Inside Out
Numbers and control: they go hand in hand.
Exact digits were an assurance,
so I counted whenever I let them in.
But I let them eat me from the inside out;
that's how anorexia works, after all.
Whether I wanted it or not, I lost myself.
Physical, mental, and emotional,
every excess was shed off.
So after a year, that's who I had become:
cold, hard, and unfeeling—just like numbers.
But come one spring, a warmth began to seep in,
but a hot dizziness nearly swept me off my feet;
feverish relapses, in and out, came then went.
Yet here I am now, standing tall and proud--
instead of lying on my bed, empty and thin.
Numbers and control: they go hand in hand.
Exact digits were an assurance,
so I counted whenever I let them in.
But I let them eat me from the inside out;
that's how anorexia works, after all.
Whether I wanted it or not, I lost myself.
Physical, mental, and emotional,
every excess was shed off.
So after a year, that's who I had become:
cold, hard, and unfeeling—just like numbers.
But come one spring, a warmth began to seep in,
but a hot dizziness nearly swept me off my feet;
feverish relapses, in and out, came then went.
Yet here I am now, standing tall and proud--
instead of lying on my bed, empty and thin.
Jayna Lizama
A Dip in Inalåhan
From our mouths, bubbles float
A language that reaches the equatorial sun
I look at you
We share our mother’s eyes
Delicious sacred salt filled with memories
that leave kisses on our brown skin
With pedaling feet, we carry forward
Each stroke, a wave hello
Håfa! we say in bubbles
Introduced to us, an array of fish
of traveling canoes guided by stars
of women with sea foam in their hair
For a moment, we forget
In the blue and green
Rising seas and auntie’s screams
In that moment, we exist
without grief
without fear
Soaking in our birthright
From our mouths, bubbles float
A language that reaches the equatorial sun
I look at you
We share our mother’s eyes
Delicious sacred salt filled with memories
that leave kisses on our brown skin
With pedaling feet, we carry forward
Each stroke, a wave hello
Håfa! we say in bubbles
Introduced to us, an array of fish
of traveling canoes guided by stars
of women with sea foam in their hair
For a moment, we forget
In the blue and green
Rising seas and auntie’s screams
In that moment, we exist
without grief
without fear
Soaking in our birthright
Helen Mark
What is a teacher?
(Nov 21, 2018 Noblesville Middle School, Indiana)
A teacher teaches knowledge
Hopefully it will turn to wisdom someday.
A teacher guides thoughts
But does not impose his own
A teacher asks questions
But may not give answers.
They may be inventions in the future.
A teacher inspires and may not know
How far the inspirations travel.
A teacher protects and saves lives of students
When they are in danger.
"That was the only acceptable action"
Jason Seaman said casually,
After wrestling the shooter to the ground
Eating three shots in his body.
Blooming three flowers in his soul.
(Nov 21, 2018 Noblesville Middle School, Indiana)
A teacher teaches knowledge
Hopefully it will turn to wisdom someday.
A teacher guides thoughts
But does not impose his own
A teacher asks questions
But may not give answers.
They may be inventions in the future.
A teacher inspires and may not know
How far the inspirations travel.
A teacher protects and saves lives of students
When they are in danger.
"That was the only acceptable action"
Jason Seaman said casually,
After wrestling the shooter to the ground
Eating three shots in his body.
Blooming three flowers in his soul.
Amaya Maulino
Lazarus of Memory
In an hour of shadow and grim
There is always a ghost that follows
Sometimes with an empathetic sorrow
Sometimes with a distant smile
An afterthought of loss
Maybe it was your first lover
Laughter at arcade birthday parties
A childhood friend you used to bike with
The taste of silk mango left on your tongue
How your mother hugged you while trembling
Transparent yet never cold, waiting beside you
Belonging and breathing
As a whisper of proof there is autonomy
Then dissipating into the air
With a trail of sweet scented smoke
Leaving you with a hope
That someday it may return alive and well
In an hour of shadow and grim
There is always a ghost that follows
Sometimes with an empathetic sorrow
Sometimes with a distant smile
An afterthought of loss
Maybe it was your first lover
Laughter at arcade birthday parties
A childhood friend you used to bike with
The taste of silk mango left on your tongue
How your mother hugged you while trembling
Transparent yet never cold, waiting beside you
Belonging and breathing
As a whisper of proof there is autonomy
Then dissipating into the air
With a trail of sweet scented smoke
Leaving you with a hope
That someday it may return alive and well
Eva Nemirovsky
Gray
There was a time when she was gentle.
Kind. Compassionate.
When the grass was green, the flowers bloomed,
coating the world in pink and red and lilac.
But when the colors faded
to pastels and grays
her heart hardened against the greying world,
the tumbling skies, the weeping trees,
and the zombified people.
Yet if the heart hardens and the world fades,
then where will our children grow?
run, walk, laugh, play?
So, she softened her heart,
let the pain flow through,
and taught others how to live beyond the gray
and see color, again.
There was a time when she was gentle.
Kind. Compassionate.
When the grass was green, the flowers bloomed,
coating the world in pink and red and lilac.
But when the colors faded
to pastels and grays
her heart hardened against the greying world,
the tumbling skies, the weeping trees,
and the zombified people.
Yet if the heart hardens and the world fades,
then where will our children grow?
run, walk, laugh, play?
So, she softened her heart,
let the pain flow through,
and taught others how to live beyond the gray
and see color, again.
Ryan Nishikawa
burying you
i buried you on a warm gusty friday
clear skies marred by faint gray dust
right above horizon in the periphery
i held you without touching
cold and limp was your frame
cheap paper was your shroud
a shallow hole is your grave
covered you in topsoil
more alive than you now
hope you find peace here
maybe Mother Earth will
show the care that i did not
i kept you in a cage
because i wanted you to stay
should’ve been my only sign
we are not the same
now i’m burying you
where i can never hurt you again
i buried you on a warm gusty friday
clear skies marred by faint gray dust
right above horizon in the periphery
i held you without touching
cold and limp was your frame
cheap paper was your shroud
a shallow hole is your grave
covered you in topsoil
more alive than you now
hope you find peace here
maybe Mother Earth will
show the care that i did not
i kept you in a cage
because i wanted you to stay
should’ve been my only sign
we are not the same
now i’m burying you
where i can never hurt you again
Melody Quevedo
Farming the pantheon
stumpy green sprouts grow out
of the grief razed heart,
fertilized by sorrow
but planted with hope.
their roots guarding against the next erosion
of sadness
we tend gingerly to our reborn garden,
it’s hard to trust the work
until new blooms come
stumpy green sprouts grow out
of the grief razed heart,
fertilized by sorrow
but planted with hope.
their roots guarding against the next erosion
of sadness
we tend gingerly to our reborn garden,
it’s hard to trust the work
until new blooms come
Cami Rothmuller
Goodbyes
I pull my jacket tighter
and imagine my cold lips against his,
his the colder--
my hands grasping for his, finding
only thin bones clattering in my palms.
I mouth the words of a song he used
to sing, see the ghosts
rise from my mouth
into the night like prayers ascending.
The moonlight fills my eyes like water
and I wonder with rising panic
how any light will find him
where he is, whatever we call it, oblivion,
and will he be truly in darkness. Can I
go with him.
I pull my jacket tighter
and imagine my cold lips against his,
his the colder--
my hands grasping for his, finding
only thin bones clattering in my palms.
I mouth the words of a song he used
to sing, see the ghosts
rise from my mouth
into the night like prayers ascending.
The moonlight fills my eyes like water
and I wonder with rising panic
how any light will find him
where he is, whatever we call it, oblivion,
and will he be truly in darkness. Can I
go with him.
Tara Saeed
Like No Other
I lost you and I lived
Not before I realized
Someone should have put you in your place,
You waited to see my face
when I realized that your love was a lie
Audacious enough to bring me down
soon enough you’ll drown in your own tears
All your fears may fall on deaf ears.
Your constant need to overcompensate,
All of your hate
Makes it so hard for me to believe you
Because now you’re so easy to see through
But I may be able to forgive
Because I lost you
And I lived
I lost you and I lived
Not before I realized
Someone should have put you in your place,
You waited to see my face
when I realized that your love was a lie
Audacious enough to bring me down
soon enough you’ll drown in your own tears
All your fears may fall on deaf ears.
Your constant need to overcompensate,
All of your hate
Makes it so hard for me to believe you
Because now you’re so easy to see through
But I may be able to forgive
Because I lost you
And I lived
Jesse Saldivar
Elegy for Lynn
I cling to the days you got older
long enough to forget you won’t anymore
so it’s about time I step near your
brooding rock, your telegraphed epitaph, and
I see your life strung out in the hyphen
planted between those imposing dates--
my hydrangeas mock the grass that crunch
beneath my feet and surround your immortal frame--
I touch you—you’re so cold now—I
sit next to you—read you “Elegy for Jane—”
I always thought it macabre,
how much you enjoy that one but
I hope you still enjoy how a horse's
neigh reverberates through the woods.
I cling to the days you got older
long enough to forget you won’t anymore
so it’s about time I step near your
brooding rock, your telegraphed epitaph, and
I see your life strung out in the hyphen
planted between those imposing dates--
my hydrangeas mock the grass that crunch
beneath my feet and surround your immortal frame--
I touch you—you’re so cold now—I
sit next to you—read you “Elegy for Jane—”
I always thought it macabre,
how much you enjoy that one but
I hope you still enjoy how a horse's
neigh reverberates through the woods.
Ann Savageau
Bedfellows 2006
Strange bedfellows, Grief and Joy,
They lie together in the bed of my brain,
They spoon, assuming like contours.
Sometimes I can't tell one from the other.
Do You ever Pause
Do you ever pause, wherever you are,
And wonder how we are doing,
How we have managed to put
Our broken lives back together,
Like the shards of a teapot,
Looking somewhat like the original
But never fully whole.
We will never be without cracks
While you, on the other hand,
Are in a place of glorious Wholeness
Where there is no brokenness,
No sorrow, no cracks or shards.
Five Moths Drawn to the Candle
Five moths drawn to the candle’s flame, only to be consumed--
what they saw in it, we’ll never know since they kept that
to themselves.
Perhaps even they didn’t know why, only that they had to do it
although it meant they perished.
You and I, on the other hand, are not moth-like at all,
but trees that thrust deep roots into soil and rock then
stay in place, watching others come and go, flourish and pass
until at last we watch our leaves fall and our limbs hollow out,
as we sink back into the earth to rejoin those
moths that graced our branches for such brief time.
Grief
The ongoing-ness of Grief--
It’s impossible to imagine
without direct experience,
and there’s no practicing for it
It sneaks up on you
at the most unexpected
times, clobbering you
with its immediacy,
tying you to the tree
while you beg to be let go
Let me just tell you this:
once you’re branded with the beast,
you’re stuck with it forever,
for good and for bad--
no ablation can erase it
and besides, you don’t
really want it gone, do you?
Guarding Against Death (March 15, 2021)
We stuffed the chinks with socks,
taped shut the windows but
you floated in so tiny, a moat
on the outside breeze to steal
our second born when we
opened the door one September day
We nailed the doors and plastered
every crack but you slipped in
on mud from our shoes to take
our firstborn one fine December
afternoon when we weren’t looking.
We sealed ourselves in an airtight
room with our last born, but you
rode in on a sunbeam to snatch
her one September afternoon.
You take only the finest
so don’t bother coming
around for us
Loss
Who are we kidding, trying to appear normal
when we have a big L emblazoned over the
space where our hearts used to be whole
Sun-kissed Boy (September 4, 2005: the fifth anniversary)
Sun-kissed, curly-haired boy
With the sea-green eyes:
If only I had known
I would have clasped you
With bonds of love and
Prescience so fierce
You could not have
Slipped from earthly grasp
To go wandering among
The stars, too busy to
Write home.
Wall (4/1/2001)
The Iron Curtain dividing East from West
Has finally come down; but that final curtain--
The Berlin Wall dividing life from death
Has never been breached.
If only there was a No Man's Land,
A DMZ between your world and ours
Where we could meet to share news and a quick embrace.
Strange bedfellows, Grief and Joy,
They lie together in the bed of my brain,
They spoon, assuming like contours.
Sometimes I can't tell one from the other.
Do You ever Pause
Do you ever pause, wherever you are,
And wonder how we are doing,
How we have managed to put
Our broken lives back together,
Like the shards of a teapot,
Looking somewhat like the original
But never fully whole.
We will never be without cracks
While you, on the other hand,
Are in a place of glorious Wholeness
Where there is no brokenness,
No sorrow, no cracks or shards.
Five Moths Drawn to the Candle
Five moths drawn to the candle’s flame, only to be consumed--
what they saw in it, we’ll never know since they kept that
to themselves.
Perhaps even they didn’t know why, only that they had to do it
although it meant they perished.
You and I, on the other hand, are not moth-like at all,
but trees that thrust deep roots into soil and rock then
stay in place, watching others come and go, flourish and pass
until at last we watch our leaves fall and our limbs hollow out,
as we sink back into the earth to rejoin those
moths that graced our branches for such brief time.
Grief
The ongoing-ness of Grief--
It’s impossible to imagine
without direct experience,
and there’s no practicing for it
It sneaks up on you
at the most unexpected
times, clobbering you
with its immediacy,
tying you to the tree
while you beg to be let go
Let me just tell you this:
once you’re branded with the beast,
you’re stuck with it forever,
for good and for bad--
no ablation can erase it
and besides, you don’t
really want it gone, do you?
Guarding Against Death (March 15, 2021)
We stuffed the chinks with socks,
taped shut the windows but
you floated in so tiny, a moat
on the outside breeze to steal
our second born when we
opened the door one September day
We nailed the doors and plastered
every crack but you slipped in
on mud from our shoes to take
our firstborn one fine December
afternoon when we weren’t looking.
We sealed ourselves in an airtight
room with our last born, but you
rode in on a sunbeam to snatch
her one September afternoon.
You take only the finest
so don’t bother coming
around for us
Loss
Who are we kidding, trying to appear normal
when we have a big L emblazoned over the
space where our hearts used to be whole
Sun-kissed Boy (September 4, 2005: the fifth anniversary)
Sun-kissed, curly-haired boy
With the sea-green eyes:
If only I had known
I would have clasped you
With bonds of love and
Prescience so fierce
You could not have
Slipped from earthly grasp
To go wandering among
The stars, too busy to
Write home.
Wall (4/1/2001)
The Iron Curtain dividing East from West
Has finally come down; but that final curtain--
The Berlin Wall dividing life from death
Has never been breached.
If only there was a No Man's Land,
A DMZ between your world and ours
Where we could meet to share news and a quick embrace.
Jamie Serrano
Dalinar Kholin Taught Me How to Hope
April 20, 1775. December 8, 1941. September 12, 2001.
"Accept pain, but don't accept you deserve it."
"The most important step is the next one."
Holding onto hope takes a little delusion.
A little belief, beyond evidence, that things
Are all going to be ok.
A little faith people will do the right thing.
A little faith you're doing the right thing.
Fiction makes it easier to believe in
clean, happy endings.
Ones where everyone lives.
And it's all ok.
April 20, 1775. December 8, 1941. September 12, 2001.
"Accept pain, but don't accept you deserve it."
"The most important step is the next one."
Holding onto hope takes a little delusion.
A little belief, beyond evidence, that things
Are all going to be ok.
A little faith people will do the right thing.
A little faith you're doing the right thing.
Fiction makes it easier to believe in
clean, happy endings.
Ones where everyone lives.
And it's all ok.
Binti Sohn
Funeral Face
In the end, funeral face is all that remains.
Pumped full of chemicals,
every corpse that lies in the casket
remains unfamiliar to loved ones.
I saw someone I didn’t know.
Pale and drained,
the expressionless face
disturbingly lingers in the back of my head.
An ugly sight to see!
During late nights while I’m studying,
sometimes a funeral face will suddenly appear.
I slip out sobs and
let some tears stain my homework.
Funeral face wasn’t real!
He was supposed to be smiling, telling jokes,
tasting delicious food.
But he died
and now I’m writing sad memos on my phone.
Reaching the Ocean
Rivers of time run this plane
Just like any other body
We are the fish who swim within
Often, some people–
Some fish–
May observe a pretty rock in the shallows
Of a bend they slow to admire
But the current will pick up without regards
To any small brain’s prediction
Downstream is the only option
Learn to forget about the rock,
Little fishy,
It’s okay to let go.
In the end, funeral face is all that remains.
Pumped full of chemicals,
every corpse that lies in the casket
remains unfamiliar to loved ones.
I saw someone I didn’t know.
Pale and drained,
the expressionless face
disturbingly lingers in the back of my head.
An ugly sight to see!
During late nights while I’m studying,
sometimes a funeral face will suddenly appear.
I slip out sobs and
let some tears stain my homework.
Funeral face wasn’t real!
He was supposed to be smiling, telling jokes,
tasting delicious food.
But he died
and now I’m writing sad memos on my phone.
Reaching the Ocean
Rivers of time run this plane
Just like any other body
We are the fish who swim within
Often, some people–
Some fish–
May observe a pretty rock in the shallows
Of a bend they slow to admire
But the current will pick up without regards
To any small brain’s prediction
Downstream is the only option
Learn to forget about the rock,
Little fishy,
It’s okay to let go.
Akshat Tiwari
Nothing better in one’s life than being told,
“You’re not good enough” “you’re too much” “too bold.”
But something about our spirit endures,
Says “I’ll show them” “what I am and what I’m not.”
For I am determined, like a spreading wildfire,
Will achieve everything, fueled by your mire
“You’re not good enough” “you’re too much” “too bold.”
But something about our spirit endures,
Says “I’ll show them” “what I am and what I’m not.”
For I am determined, like a spreading wildfire,
Will achieve everything, fueled by your mire
Emma Tolliver
Afterglow
The shadows of the life I fled
Follow me back home
Always running from what I left
Behind a long, long time ago
Stuck in the labyrinth of the past
Lost in familiar catacombs
While the wind carries the echoes
Of my cries, I am not yet hollow
As there is still something within me
Gentle and soft and — behold:
With it my heart is set alight;
Hazy warmth in my chest, aglow
I draw my sword and venture forth
With quivering hands, solo
There is nowhere else to turn -
So now it’s time for me to go
And I hope for my life and to find my way back
In the afterglow.
The shadows of the life I fled
Follow me back home
Always running from what I left
Behind a long, long time ago
Stuck in the labyrinth of the past
Lost in familiar catacombs
While the wind carries the echoes
Of my cries, I am not yet hollow
As there is still something within me
Gentle and soft and — behold:
With it my heart is set alight;
Hazy warmth in my chest, aglow
I draw my sword and venture forth
With quivering hands, solo
There is nowhere else to turn -
So now it’s time for me to go
And I hope for my life and to find my way back
In the afterglow.
Pachia Vang
kab yeeb
pink petals so fragile
they break at the touch of my fingertips.
melt into the palm of my hands.
my grandmother use to cut open the bulbs, slit-by-slit,
and my eyes would grow big watching them bleed
a lustrous milky substance, day-by-day,
drying brown as they aged in the sun
wilting.
i watched my grandfather clean his pipe neatly.
disassemble the pieces. wrap them in leaflets.
burying it in a box underneath his bed
as the smoke lay thick in the air.
it billows to this day...
the memories of my fading youth.
the memories of our fading youth.
pink petals so fragile
they break at the touch of my fingertips.
melt into the palm of my hands.
my grandmother use to cut open the bulbs, slit-by-slit,
and my eyes would grow big watching them bleed
a lustrous milky substance, day-by-day,
drying brown as they aged in the sun
wilting.
i watched my grandfather clean his pipe neatly.
disassemble the pieces. wrap them in leaflets.
burying it in a box underneath his bed
as the smoke lay thick in the air.
it billows to this day...
the memories of my fading youth.
the memories of our fading youth.
Rova Yilmaz
Siir
They were from our country, they hid themselves, like me...
It's like seeing a person's similarity in a mirror.
Even though it didn't cut, it hurt me,
And my prayers are with the fog inside me
begging and pulling myself back
between believing and believing
In an endless thin line, cutting me like a steel rope
As if the result is just a matter of choice
It will take the heart to love, now it's my job to raise it
They were from our country, they gave a hope and left
Whether the days pass or not:
A
Smile and look
The world was loving me
like someone else's help
Like the lack of self-love...
you should be able to love yourself
Reminded like a memento
Kişiler
Geç kaldığım kabusumdayım yine
Giriş saati geçmiş, param yok.
Param var belki de!?... Cebim kuru.
Gönlüm elime vermiyor gücü
Yine de hallederim ben, yolda taş, yolda taşlar.
Selam veriyorum, dışarıdan oynatarak kendimi
İplerim ellerimde, resmî gibi.
Hayret hiç yadırgamamışım kendimi
Büyük olan hep biriymiş gibi, sanki neden
Ve ellerinde olduğumu gören 3.ben
Asıl ben ise bu izleyici; oynayan ve oynatanı...
Demek ki en az iki değil üçmüşüm
10 taneye bahse girmiştim; ama işin doğrusu;
İkiye tamah etmiştim, görüyorum şimdi üçümüzü,
yollarda taş, içimde iki arkadaş, ağır taş,
olur buradan yak Atilla taş.
They were from our country, they hid themselves, like me...
It's like seeing a person's similarity in a mirror.
Even though it didn't cut, it hurt me,
And my prayers are with the fog inside me
begging and pulling myself back
between believing and believing
In an endless thin line, cutting me like a steel rope
As if the result is just a matter of choice
It will take the heart to love, now it's my job to raise it
They were from our country, they gave a hope and left
Whether the days pass or not:
A
Smile and look
The world was loving me
like someone else's help
Like the lack of self-love...
you should be able to love yourself
Reminded like a memento
Kişiler
Geç kaldığım kabusumdayım yine
Giriş saati geçmiş, param yok.
Param var belki de!?... Cebim kuru.
Gönlüm elime vermiyor gücü
Yine de hallederim ben, yolda taş, yolda taşlar.
Selam veriyorum, dışarıdan oynatarak kendimi
İplerim ellerimde, resmî gibi.
Hayret hiç yadırgamamışım kendimi
Büyük olan hep biriymiş gibi, sanki neden
Ve ellerinde olduğumu gören 3.ben
Asıl ben ise bu izleyici; oynayan ve oynatanı...
Demek ki en az iki değil üçmüşüm
10 taneye bahse girmiştim; ama işin doğrusu;
İkiye tamah etmiştim, görüyorum şimdi üçümüzü,
yollarda taş, içimde iki arkadaş, ağır taş,
olur buradan yak Atilla taş.
Zita Wong
the smell of rain
ive learnt to be okay with the smell of rain
and the images with which it trails
the ones I predicted would blur but never did
as clear as day i remember what once was
with all my heart i wish it would return
we could run away in the cold
the smell of rain once again your musk
please stay, i beg
with words that fail me
if only you never looked away
maybe you would have read my eyes
instead we stood
with raindrops and bloodstains
trailing down path where we met
and wondered of the possibilities endless
Strange
how real was he
he who stood before me
he who looked like you
the audacity of this strange man
to remind me of a love that wasn't meant to be
of affections unshown
of feelings unconfessed
in the second that the elevator doors opened
I watched him as he watched me
how real was this strange man
who stood as tall as you did
with a glare as hostile as yours
and how unfair to this strange man
that his existence to me is tainted by you
ive learnt to be okay with the smell of rain
and the images with which it trails
the ones I predicted would blur but never did
as clear as day i remember what once was
with all my heart i wish it would return
we could run away in the cold
the smell of rain once again your musk
please stay, i beg
with words that fail me
if only you never looked away
maybe you would have read my eyes
instead we stood
with raindrops and bloodstains
trailing down path where we met
and wondered of the possibilities endless
Strange
how real was he
he who stood before me
he who looked like you
the audacity of this strange man
to remind me of a love that wasn't meant to be
of affections unshown
of feelings unconfessed
in the second that the elevator doors opened
I watched him as he watched me
how real was this strange man
who stood as tall as you did
with a glare as hostile as yours
and how unfair to this strange man
that his existence to me is tainted by you
