The Poetry Snapshot: Leave me at the Library

It terrifies me to think
I can get so close,
finally be in sync,
have a moment of repose…

Only to have you become a stranger again.

Nashville, TN

So please leave me at the library;
an unchecked book.
I can make myself invisible,
until I’m something you overlook.

It’s been ages since I’ve let someone
fully read through my pages.
An author, or perhaps my own adversary,
for assuming I will always be temporary.
I write myself out of existence;
before there is doubt, there is distance.
Until I’ve swam so far out into the sea,
not even the waves can quite reach me.

My spine is sewn by the emotions
that couldn’t be noted.
Each word is an ocean,
but I’ve never floated.
So I drown myself into my own story,
I grasp for air, but now I feel lonely.

Tongue-stained with insecurities,
I have chapters of excuses just to avoid
a potential hurt I’ve always known.
Until one day, I’m on my own.

The Poetry Snapshot: Dimly Lit Room

A night of unsustainable chivalry
and questionable intimacy.
In this dimly lit room,
you feel like a rehearsed symphony.

Your words age like wine
and carry me like champagne—
but I’m nine months sober.
So I put on a smile and try to explain
an elegantly crafted love story.
It’s not a lie, just glorified,
because tonight, perfection is mandatory.

Image by Duane Street

Sixty minutes of seated salience;
I search for your expressions.
Your tiny obsessions.
Your emotional dispossessions.
Then the sound of your racing heart
grazes my skin like cashmere,
suddenly, I want to stay right here.

Oh, what a rare luxury!
I can wear my vulnerability
like pearls around my neck.
I do not have to tip toe,
you should know I’m a wreck.
Finally able to breathe,
in this dimly lit room,
I see you in full bloom.

The Poetry Snapshot: Here and Gone like a Breeze

Sleeping Bear Dunes, Michigan

One single moment,
so sweet as sugar,
only to leave behind a cavity that lasts forever.
How can someone touch you so lightly,
that you question the embrace,
but then find a scar on your body?

Here and gone like the wind,
but softer and silently,
like a breeze.

I feared her free-spirit,
but found asylum in her affection.
She filled me with rage and so much wonder,
but when she was gone, I had this everlasting hunger.

Only three raindrops hit my skin before she got bored.
Wanting more, but locked at her core,
she did not mind leaving; that’s all she was good for.
For summoning up a storm and then ‘running away’.

Never afraid but always awake,
because dreams never lie and they testify
against everything we try to hide.

Green grass in the field mocks my jealously,
but I thought it was love?
I called it affection,
but just wanted attention.

When she first came here,
the field was frozen.
Then it melted tears as she disappeared.
How was she chosen?
Freshly plucked out of the field,
the star Rose in my eye.
But of course I had to say goodbye,
eventually flowers decay.
Perhaps tomorrow the sky won’t be so gray.

The Poetry Snapshot: Through the Window

Every day I fly to the tree with the twisting branches
and gaze at her through the window.

The lady with the tired eyes and colorful silk saris
stained by sweat and spilt food
as she cooks all day.

Chettinad, Tamilnadu

I notice the tiny kitchen,
brimmed with pots and pans
and no room to breathe,
tighten around her through the window.

The lattice panels bend into parallel prison bars
that she stays confined to.

Without knowing her voice,
I’ve learned her story through the window.
Without knowing her name,
I sing for her through the window.

And sometimes, she glances up.
She looks at me,
through the window.
Maybe looking for a distraction,
maybe looking for a companion.

But those moments pass by quickly
and she continues to cook all day.

The Poetry Snapshot: Parallel Lines

New York City, New York

I sat with the uncertainty of landing to a reality
I’d never seen with my own eyes.
I kept adjusting my economy seat.
I sit with the anxiety of finally returning,
after trying so hard to get back on my feet.

I was once eager to arrive
and dissolve my wistfulness with an embrace.
Now I’m nervous to see the empty space,
only filled with memories I still can’t face.

Back then I wanted the minutes to go by faster.
Folding time to reduce distance and see you again.

Today, I can wait.

I can be slow to get where I’m going
and make the destination farther away.

I am flying the same journey again,
but on parallel lines.

I can’t seem to balance this cheerful anticipation
with my fear of noticing the signs;
that times are different and things have grown
in ways I’m not familiar.
But perhaps returning to change is what I need
to finally get some closure.

The Poetry Snapshot: Moments of Warmth

Pan Macmillan Photography

I try to collect moments of warmth in the winter.
I hold a cup of hot chocolate,
and the fire begins to glow.
The sun breaks through a hazy dawn,
and glimmers into my window.

But I can only find fleeting moments of warmth,
with pastel ice shining in the sunrise,
and frost gripping onto everything in sight.
I can finally bundle up now,
and my layers can hug me tight.

Scarcity turns warmth into luxury.
I search for it all around me.
But no one’s beside me as I run down this trail;
hot water runs down my spine to no avail.
Alone and silently,
I crave moments of warmth in the winter.