I am from oatmeal,
served fresh in the morning,
with a brown sugar dress, and raisin sequins
I am from penalties and corners,
Part of a center forwarded game
I am from the dainty Japanese maple, whose tender limbs,
once provided a scarlet seat,
I am from the delicate Kawai,
upright and ebony, sounding each morning,
a single flaw etched into it’s spotless exterior
I am from the corroded brandy table,
minuscule pits of sadness scratched into it’s front
From the upside-down stink horns, residing in the crevices of mildewed fir bark
I am from dirt covered cuticles,
jagged nails, a bruise or two embodied into my skin
I am from rich pumpkin pie,
creamy whipped cream,
From Mom’s delicious gravy covered chicken
I am from Chai in the evening,
from Hola and Bonjour
From A job worth doing is a job worth doing well
Hidden notes to self,
pages of markings,
in a shuffle of half shreddd loose-leaf
Kept safely,untouched ,
in it’s own glass case
In….It’s own imaginary Louvre
I often contemplate my childhood, Mom.
I am a father now, and so I know
Hard work and fun go hand in hand for us;
In your actions were the lessons of Love above all and all along.
I reflect on all that your did for us and gave to us:
Sacrifice, tolerance, patience, devotion, love and tears,
Your heart, your mind, and your soul–
All these you spent on us throughout the years.
You loved us with a never-failing love
With your blanket of Love and guidance you gave us strength and confidence
And then you did the hardest thing of all:
You let us find the roads less travelled and set us free.
Every day, I try my best to be
A father, guide and beacon for our children
Like the mom you were to us.
And, amidst all the effort, we still cannot do much
Without the shower of blessings from you
Now and for ever.
What is such a pure color?
Might it be a dove, soaring the skies?
Free, away from the arguments of the world
Is it as pure as love?
The feeling of bliss?
Or the clouds up in heaven
Sweet smells of jasmines
Blooming in a garden
Scents drifting away in the cool air
Would it be the sky at dawn?
Embroidered with fog?
Or snowflakes falling gently from the sky.
Sweet sugar icing, upon a cake.
Is it that?
To form only one.
White is a mystery.
I do wonder,
Calming, Wet, Muggy.
An enthralling force,
Like shards of sparkling crystal,
Falling from the sky.
Aww, on the bottom of an old shoe,
My bones breaking,
Covering my poor,
Next I’m folded and sticky,
Bent in a reeking mouth
Ain’t a good place.
Caressed over hard, yellow teeth now.
Chewed again, and again.
Caged, in a dispenser.
Locked up all tight.
Only to be chewed in a reeking mouth,
Then break my bones.