to cut immigration
is to cut me half
-Filipino I am already
halved quartered diced you take
a knife to my mother she keeps
a knife at her neck we both are
American in the blade of the word
I used to pretend to be more
my more-accepted half
to have to choose
is to have nothing
(originally published in Serving House Journal, Fall 2017)
We stare at stars until we feel
the cavalcade of stones shift beneath our shoes.
There is an entropy to the universe.
What melody does the rail hold in her ivories?
Do we listen for an engine to ignite
while we tangle in the grass, in the cold,
in the tremble of tracks? Where else to go?
We tremble, too, waiting
for a song from the vulnerable rail
and her sharp of distance.
If the train will not move I still want
to create landscapes with you
and callous ourselves hurtling
past engine content in her still
into worlds where I become wind,
and you, fire–
with a palm on your cheek,
we’re the mountains,
playas, beaches, moors.
All a blur. A quiver.
(originally published in Isthmus, Winter 2016)
In Spain I did love and adore you. I did.
But in Spain, it is easy to love and adore anything–
the paella, her rabbit flesh and beans;
even the sidewalk– acera.
With her language an aphrodisiac,
you do not wonder why you fall, or sustain, in love.
We spoke our ugly language around beautiful tongues
which filled the air with matrimonial vows.
In the beginning, we were the sound of stars, the language
of kisses. I can fall in love with anything skybound
and I do.
Those moon-colored nights were our yesterdays,
and tomorrow we return to our familiar,
where love is not wordless
nor as easily presumed.
(originally published in Memoryhouse, Spring 2016)
We remain afloat
on the phone
There were days when bees
could pollinate petals
without seeming drunken.
Some flowers simply
sing of cabernet.
Pursue the laurels
inherent in your heart.
Forever we say we lived.
(originally published in Blue Skirt Productions – June 2015)