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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