How silent must I be
and for how long
Sometimes so silent
sometimes so distant
I could become air
I could disappear
Gewurztraminer
I was afraid that if I planted grapes
they would grow beyond my control
(a healthy grape vines up so quickly)
or might not rise at all from my soil
(adapted from an essay written April 24, 2018)
Ten Years
I inherited his eyebrows
I got his jawline too, but
didn’t know it until long
after he was gone, when
one day Mom sent me a
photograph of their early
adventures; seeing him
also in his 30s, I thought
I am a girl version of him
To reach the point when
we can narrate our story
objectively, rather than
remember only to grieve
Ten years will do that
(adapted from an essay written February 19, 2018)
Confession
Six years later
it’s safe to say
I drew your face
inside my book
to serve as means
of seeing you
when I was not
allowed to look
(Written around 2010)
In Time for Monday
A virus takes its time
to leave (so do people)
Instruction manual:
Take pills as needed
ease what can be eased
wake up each day
the same, suffering
until one night
having gone to bed
drawn up the covers
switched off the light
noticed it didn’t
feel as terrible
as the night before
slept on that thought
woke up less dull
made tea and eggs
by noon realized
all systems clear
(February 16, 2019)
