Write of Passage

our boots squeak with snow
light as sparkling feathers
quiet city streets

middle one agrees
to traipse in winter beauty
so much like her mom

this brings me to peace
from sleepless, sorrowful nights
my words lost, then found

like our snowy prints
only seen from right behind
otherwise ignored

my most precious gift
recorded for all my life
despised by loved ones

perhaps she will walk
behind my wordy footsteps
her write to escape

for now, quiet snow
i accept what i can’t change
and keep on writing

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White Christmas

her comments swallowed
like the Christmas morn semen
cranberry juice, please

i’m not defensive
just wish for white Christmases
like everyone else

i can win this game
Cards Against Humanity
with my best haiku

five girls are sleeping
in my parents’ bungalow
i love my city

my favorite movie
It’s a Wonderful Life, YES!!
live and Live and LIVE!!!!

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Proximity

lattice top apple
laid by a baking expert
five years of hard work

culinary school?
kitchens of Denver and Spain
dough soft as her cheek

yes, she was just three
her first try in our kitchen
all to be near me

i can’t buy her dreams
or make Santa come to life
but i’ll give her that

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Grey Christmas

back to my haikus
because imbalance steals breath
from rainy winters

PWB

i looked back because of the hits
and there were no haikus
no strict syllable limitations
to the words he watches me hold back

just the brutality of me
full force. in my middle girl’s words
spoken so harshly in the witching hour

that’s how it was then.
poetry without borders, PWB
just doesn’t work the same as DWB
though the after-effect?
like bourbon to the virgin

you would know if you’d been there.
you’d know how painfully dangerous
that hot liquid could burn your soul.

and he would stop. the car.
that’s how bad.

because you reading this?
and all the rest of the non-stalking world?

if you had him at home?
you wouldn’t carry that demon.
it would be buried. six feet under.
and you’d walk the city streets
and set free your child and live
live
live
like every moment was your last.

Measures of Success

standing room only
crowd hushed for collegiate speech
from a sixth grader

bright academics
the spotlight shines on this school
rainbow of world

social injustice
swept under a brave chorus
strict rules understood

forgotten pencil
equals hour detention?
path drawn to success

unified voices
remedy doubtful choices
good god let them sing

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Home. Made.

another stressed day
just before Christmas bustle
lost to this sickness

tears fresh this morning
frozen pond glistening dawn
star-studded boathouse

guilt trailing my job
as he rushed home, two sick girls
and me? meetings, plans

she came back today
babyless, unpacking shelves
repacking her life

her despondence stung
i couldn’t leave her alone
burdened with boxes

we made plans, had lunch
I got your card, she told me
we’re not sending any

no family photo
for his first, never Christmas

(this is what i hear)

but she won’t say that,
leaves me lines to read between
your girls’ pic was great

her grief in all words
she tells of Christmas-free plans
prepared to move on

this i carry home
with oldest’s three earned awards
to my handsome chef

his job ends next week
i won’t worry who’ll nurse them
and make chicken soup

noodles fall from spoons
and girls, all better, delight
priceless remedy

now they’ll discuss me
what will he do now, and you?
i’ll have no answer

only the safety
of the home he makes for us
beyond what they see

Predictions

like a lost puppy
he waits every afternoon
hoping for some help

i enable him
wonder where his friends might be
knowing he has none

everyday struggles
of left-behind countries, wars
haunt my students’ lives

tomorrow, the same
i’ll give him the look; give in
heart too wrenched for no

i’ll carry work home
(not as heavy as his load)
pray peace will find us

Winter Break

survived another
harried nonstop dash Monday
give me winter break

if i’d a real job?
i’d go home early when sick
not pop pills to last

i’d go out to lunch
have adult conversations
away from all kids

how tiring talk
not filled with young undertones
would surely make me

instead i’ll take this:
endless work weeks, sick through some
needy happy kids

and yes, winter break
no holiday turmoil
my kids all around

Homecoming

there is no measure
for a refugee’s story
it starts where yours ends

to gather the words
thick Asian-Afro-accents?
world peace in ears

just open your heart
your eyes your gut, God your soul
and you will hear them

bleeding through parties
drives across suburban hell
and comedy works

you will hear their cry
their mothers’ and fathers’ cries
and yes, you will cry

it’s the cry that springs
open the dead ache inside
oft named white privilege

please, measure their words
bring back those crossed continents
good Lord, bring them home