Pear Trees
Rows and rows of pear trees
Solider effervescently
In the aura-dawn.
Their lines are the keepers
Of the dew-grass labyrinth
And the bungalow at their end,
For their fruit has been
The source of pride
For generations
Of soiled hands.
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Perspective of a stuffed toy
I have no heart, yet I have held every beat of yours. I was stitched from quiet thread and filled with soft, old wool, given a face that could not see - yet somehow, I witnesses everything. The tears you buried in my worn-out ear. The secrets you whispered only
Independence for Whom?
BEFORE Before marriage, nobody asked if I wanted to be happy. They asked if I could be easy - easy to feed, easy to marry off, easy to summarize to relatives in one flattering sentence. Nobody remembered my exam results a week later. They still bring up the one time
Still at the Edge
You entered my life the way storms enter summer - without warning, without mercy- and suddenly the pages of me were torn lose, scattered into a sky I didn't know could break open. Or maybe you were never a storm. Maybe you were a song - the kind
The Twelfth Flower
We were held together by daisy chains I was always the one making it. Splitting the stem with my thumbnail, threading the next one through the wound- that's what it is, if you look close. Not a loop. A wound wearing another wound to look like decoration. You