Stella '17 [poem]

Note: This poem was published in Rigorous, an online journal edited and written by people of color, in Volume 1, Issue 2.


These high piles of snow lining the sides of the streets
has me walking on the straight and narrow, 
starting and ending at the crosswalks, 
waiting for the lights, and looking out for cars,
like you’re supposed to;
no more short cuts between parked cars,
no more jaywalking in the middle of the street,
no more detours through driveways and bike lanes...
I'm left with no other choice but to navigate
thin patches of concrete wide enough only for one person,
single-person meandering walkways,
negotiating with other unfortunate pedestrians
for that precious piece of clean sidewalk
through the white snow, packed snow, dirty snow,
navigating treacherously over brown slush
halfway through the crosswalk, only to be stopped
by a dark gray puddle of melted once-snow,
looking like the cold mush of nightmares,
that you need to leap over, run around, climb past
over the packed slick hills, or risk walking through it
(how deep is it, really?).
I always supposed the straight and narrow
to be the road of least resistance, but now that I realize
it is only full of hidden dangers and unexpected troubles,
I think I prefer my way of clever shortcuts and
shrewd calculations, risking known dangers and
making leaps of faith,
for you are not entirely blind when making your own way;
you are guided by life's experiences.

zig zag

Another poem

This was going to be a short story, but somehow it turned into a poem... I never thought of myself as a poet.

To Catch a Dream 

She cast a line into the sea to try to catch a dream;

Instead she caught a thrashing world,

glistening blue and red and green.

Out of the salty depths from which it had been submerged,

for forty days and forty nights it flowed and weaved,

unseen.

She held the glowing world in her hand’s palm

and listened to the rumors of ghosts

and the throbbing of its heart’s calm.

The world, in its turn, cast off the shadows and the doubt,

revved up its spirit, Life, and warmed the

            healing balm.

She wore the world close to her heart

upon a silver string;

kept its secrets for herself and whispered

her innocent tales of cabbages and kings.

Nature’s bounty sparked and bloomed and showed the world

in tresses of newborn Spring.

She modeled the world upon her breast

in her changeling years,

and loved a boy who broke her heart,

that honest Puck, that maker of tears.

The world convulsed and burst with songs of faith and hope,

            dispelling shadows of offense and fears.

She carried the world upon her brow

            set in a golden crown,

and beside her strolled the shining vows,

burnt with the fires of her eyes.

They followed her wing glides in the clouds

            and framed her fearful symmetry. 

Upon the twilight of the her days

            When the stars began to fade,

the world pulsed bright in the darkening sky

            and then began to serenade

the flights of lore, the tales of yore,

            and the perfume of life’s bouquet.

She walked the well-trodden road to sea

            with the world curled in her hand,

and with the wisdom of her feet

            by way of the footprints in the sand.

To the world she whispered, go gentle into that

            good night, and returned it from the land.