to my daughter
the last fingertip touching my still, cooling hand should belong to you
cherry valley forever

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to my daughter
the last fingertip touching my still, cooling hand should belong to you
dry
all the doors, open all the rooms, empty all the drawers, bare all the floors, worn I can’t hear your heart
haiku
goodbye modern girl you’re now pixellated in the datastream
I thought I was a grown-up
When they took off my training wheels
And I thought I was a grown-up
When I started making my own meals
I thought I was a grown-up
When I learned to drive
I thought I was a grownup
Because I kept my plants alive
I thought I was a grown up
When I went on my first date
And I thought I was a grown-up
Because I stayed up late
I thought I was a grown-up
After I finished school
And I thought I was a grown-up
Because I learned to break the rules
I thought I was a grown-up
When I traveled near and far
But it turns out you’re not a grown-up
Until you know how young you are
–I thought I was a grown-up // 4lornly
And now for an op-ed.
This is not my usual work here, but I want it to be seen. ---------------------------------
It is imperative that Rep. Ilhan Omar continue to criticize the US.
Many angry voices are shouting that she should be expelled from Congress, even the country, for criticizing it. The charge of treason is coming far too easily from a contingent that lusts for political blood without restraint. Those voices are saying that she should be more grateful. She should be celebrating America for taking her in, not criticizing it for its flaws. They seem to suggest that she is a Citizen Minus because she wasn’t born here. There are no tiers of citizenship. Once you’re in, you’re in.
A perspective of some use is the common wisdom’s opposite. Not only should Congresswoman Omar’s right to free speech be respected, tolerated, and allowed, it should be celebrated. Who else has earned the right to free speech more than a refugee who bled, struggled, fought, trekked, shivered, baked, starved, yet always hoped? Who else has earned the right to free speech any more than the people who studied their hearts out, who learned more about this country than most of its citizens, who worked at menial jobs, who supported families? Dear reader is probably, in all likelihood, a natural-born citizen. You haven't had to fight for your freedom to speak openly and without fear of repercussion from the government. You never had to escape warlords with an undying dream of one day being free. You never had to carry a child away from bombs and gunfire, slaughter and rape, across parched landscapes, with no food, no water, and nothing but thousands of miles between you and a land where you can work and flourish. You didn’t work for it. It’s your birthright.
They worked for it. They struggled for it. It sustained them on dark nights. It kept their vision forward during the march to freedom. They had a dream, and that dream is America.
The reality of that dream is harsh. Crime. Dirt. Crumbling roads and buildings. Exorbitant cost of living. Below-subsistence wages. Beastly hard work. On top of all that, a population who largely hates you, egged on by a government that does, too. Is that part of the dream? Is that part of the America you sought?
Of course not. The America we promise refugees and immigrants is one where you can speak your piece on a street corner and the government can’t stop you. The America we promise allows you to get together in groups in public, to print any message you want, to worship where and what you like, to be secure in your home, to not be forced to testify against yourself, to be protected in court.
Imagine that is your dream, and this is what you come to: kangaroo courts, racist judges and prosecutors, rogue lawmen, and wildly unjust prison sentences. Bigotry at work, bigotry in church, bigotry in public. Denied the opportunities enjoyed by native-born citizens. Imagine you’ve been dreaming of paradise, and what you get is desolation. What do you do? Slump into inaction? Or do you fight for the America of which you dreamed?
No one has any more right to a political opinion than a refugee citizen. No one.
senryu
she has slipped this earth night and sun, no longer bound the whole sky is hers
haiku
“i love you” is like “please forgive me, I’m sorry” they come back in time
haiku
ragged is the voice that cries your name on the wind to hear it swallowed
haiku
i hate your killer you can’t hold a vendetta on a ball of tar
haiku for the departed
you know she is safe you have been and you have seen for whom do you weep?
I think of you when it rains in the wind when your music plays in the woods
I want to tell you when I laugh when I cry what I think everything
I listen for you in the silence in the water in my dreams all the time
I want to make new memories new laughs new tears new days
but you’re not here
Because we’re so close
don’t let’s let our misery go unwanted you know suffering alone is no fun and you know when we suffer together we have the time of our lives.
don’t let’s let our few years fade unloved love is the home you make in your heart for someone else my heart has a home for you and it’s time for you to come home.
don’t let’s let space and time estrange us fruit that dies on the vine shrivels in solitude let us tend our vines and enjoy the fruit all of our days.
don’t let’s be alone at the end no passing solo not allowed let my hand hold yours as it begins to cool
If I Had You
If I had you
there’d be no questions.
If I had you
all doubts would flee.
If I had you
all the possibilities would come true.
If I had you
we would travel the sphere ethereal.
If I had you
I could walk up to God and curse
If I had you
all that dross would fall away.
if I had you
we would be riding the celestial surf.
If I had you
The panoply of heaven would be open.
If I had you
the world would be but a breath
If I had you
there would be no flower in the snow
Fear Come True
There is no more. The laughter is gone. Your voice is silent. Your heart is still. Your eyes are closed. Your smile has fallen. No more dancing. Your hands are quiet. Your breast doesn’t rise or fall. The warmth has fled.
Except in my heart.
In my heart, the music plays. Your feet dance. Your hands talk. Your heart beats. Your skin is warm. Laughs are in your voice. Your face delights a smile. Your eyes sparkle.
In my heart, you breathe.
I Saw the Figure 5 in Gold 1928 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Alfred Stieglitz Collection