• Three Poems


    Poem to Your Little Feet

    Sometimes when we walk home together
    I do not look at your face

    But at your feet, your little feet
    And how cruel they sounded

    In every step of the road
    Sometimes, your feet sounded like:

    “He’s mine, only mine and mine alone!”
    Slashing through the impassable crowd

    With our arms wrapped
    Entwined, melted in a togetherness

    Ready to revolt against anybody
    To come and breathe between us

    Even as we arrive home, your feet
    Come stomping wanting me, wanting us

    Mine and your little feet
    Grazing each other with the most tender of affection

    Sitting inseparably by sweetened afternoons
    Of warm embraces and gentle kisses

    And other forms of love
    But still, it is your little feet that supported

    The intricate structures of your being,
    Of whom you are

    And what I came to love
    Throughout the years

    Ah, to your little feet and to your little toes
    To your tireless and hard nails

    I thank them more than I can thank of your being

    For they brought you to me and lead me
    To the deepest trenches of your heart

    * * *

    Sometimes, I am the leaves

    Aimless and astray – “I won’t go far”
    But most times, lost in the intricate streets and manmade blocks
    Not knowing the way back to your bosom

    I am the leaves, bloodless even with the stomping feet of men
    and most often I am the leaf that some naughty girl tore apart
    for no purpose

    What again is the purpose of the leaves?
    Ah, this is the fate of us and
    We shall not complain to the god of all beings

    But if soon, I evolve to something else
    Say, with hard fingers and strong fists,
    A determined heart weaved in a web of veins,
    Two seeing eyes and a pair of sturdy legsand unyielding heels
    I shall seek you — my origin
    Where I spent my days devouring chlorophyll
    And I won’t exist
    Without your water, without your light
    Without you withstanding the violence of many storms

    I shall seek your roots digging in the deepest earth
    Like a child crawling back to your womb,
    Joining you and becoming part of the paleness of your sad branches,
    Your intervallic breaths, your old wrinkles, the scars of your trunks
    And tears of newly slashed wounds
    For it is all, too—mine

    * * *

    I Marvel

    At your soft little fingers
    Crawling to my chest

    The warmth of its palms
    And how it burned the heart

    Melted by the grip of
    Your bare hands

    And I can only adore
    The most discreet of your laughter,

    Marveling at your eyes
    Watching mine

    And how I marvel of your slow breath
    Closing the breathable gap to yours

    Like a dying fox in the woods
    Pale at the face of death

    But no, I am not here
    To hunt your head with an axe

    Or hit you with the sharpest arrows,
    Immobilizing your quiet feet

    Or stick my daggers to your heart
    Wounding you to bleed

    Rather, I am here,
    To marvel how we arrive at this:

    You close to me with your most subtle parts
    We, smelting like earth

    Burning the air,
    Drowning in fire

    And in your mouth I swam
    The fiery waters

    The unyielding tongue
    And how vulnerable we revealed
    At the face of our likeness

    Mirroring our sweet errors,
    Halfhearted attempts

    And failed dreams
    But with us close like this,

    We have finally snatched
    The unlikeliest of victories


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