driving

Streetlights that rise and set, casting shadows across the landscape of your skin.

hello, September

I almost forgot to greet you. You just slide into place silently after August, and rest comfortably in the spot she has left. I never notice. But I enjoy your company. You bring the slight drizzle and steady rains with you and herald the coming of the Christmas season. Sometimes you stir and usher in a storm or two. But generally, you are a sleepy month, awake but just barely, as if on the brink of a dream; a fog, a haze, unclear but encompassing. You are strange. And you are here.

elevator

The doors close and there’s a sudden shake
A drop. The feeling of floating
11, 10, 9
Suspended in water, wherein
8, 7, 6
Your body is the crest of a wave, crashing
5, 4, 3
To the ground.

15 minutes

Tonight, through the wonders of the internet (and Skype), I watched you sleep for 15 minutes. It’s funny how technology makes me feel so close and yet so far. But here I am, clinging to it. A few days ago, I asked no one in particular when I would be able to watch someone I love sleep, and this was how you responded. Your hair has grown long, a bit too long for my taste, yet I was not there to see its progress, not present as it silently slid out from underneath your skin. I told you to get a haircut; trim the ends that I have met for the roots that I have not. As I watched you, I could imagine you breathing softly, the passing of air through your lungs as if I had laid a hand on your chest. I imagined that I was the air that pushed back the hair from your brow. A few days ago, I confessed that I was always afraid. It’s still true. I fear for many things; for the safety and well-being of those I love and care for, for the future that is uncertain and for the present that will affect everything.  I’m afraid that, in my distance, you will grow into a life without me; a wave finding a different shore to wash up upon.

oh please

Oh, please
Oh please!
Oh. Please.

late night

In the bunk above me, my brother is sleeping. I left him just to brush my teeth. When I got back, he was snoring lightly. It’s nearly 2am, but in the Philippines it’s only 8 in the evening. I don’t feel sleepy, though I’m tired. I’m looking out the window. The lights are blurred without my glasses. But the sounds from the street rise up clearly. The passing of cars. The shutting of doors. An inaudible voice. I close the window. It’s time to sleep.

on the 12th floor

On the 12th floor, my brother’s speakers pick up stray radio waves. They are the faintest of sounds, like ghostly whispers leaking into the world of the living. It’s strange, as, though I can hear them, I can’t make out the words, and even it it scares me, the constant sound of someone, a person projecting his or her voice into the air in waves that travel at the speed of light, to someone else, to anyone who will hear or who will listen (which I try, but cannot) is comforting.

First Things

A ‘haiku’ I wrote in 2002, found by my friend, Kari.

First Things

The first thing I do
When I wake up every day
Is fall back to sleep.

Fog; WIP

Something I’m working on. The full poem is Vincenz Serrano’s “Fog”.

vulnerable

to cut open

a ripe fruit.