From the minute we’re born,
to the moment we die, our lives are a fistful of unanswered whys.
The loss of a loved one, through distance or death.
The passions we feel that steal our breath.
The stars way above us, both hidden and seen.
The seabed below us and all in between.
From the minute we wake,
til the moment we sleep, we ponder the secrets that providence keeps.
In majesty she came to be our mother.
I lionize her,
for she was a lioness. Yes.
But we, the three cubs of her Pride
no longer linger by her side.
And yet, we still lope in her shadow.
Dawn will be here in a blink.
For now, the sky is black as ink. The snow stopped falling hours ago, the earth is white — the west wind blows. A chill creeps in from window cracks. I feel its talons at my back. My baby slumbers by my side, but soon her mouth will open wide, to greet the morning with a cry. Stay close my love — the light is nigh.
A Magpie in Flight Luxembourg City 2021.May.9
Like an unwelcome birthday, twilight breaths
down our necks. At Ashikaga we float, two hopeful buds amongst hundreds, flowers of a different kind.
Purple, mauve, lilac, pink, blinding white.
Colors of our daydreams projected into the universe that lies outside of us.
Threads of yesterday, perfectly preserved in
pictures, pave the way for tomorrow’s celebrations.
Do you remember Summer 2020? Do you
remember how we screamed and cheered, with our babies on our laps, for Kaya Kazuma when he won bronze at the Tokyo Games?
You don’t? Well, I do.
Wisterian hues fold and unfold us, make and
remake us, keeping us honest, keeping us focused and true to ourselves.
And yet, I remember much that never was.
The manacles of this virus, long have they reigned,
gradually rust and come undone, falling away to reveal restless and ready hands.
I remember for both of us.
Daring to be brilliant, regal even, though it
is known that our blooms burst for but a brief time.
plum trees never ask why, when the deities please, their buds, in the blink of an eye, must die