You Are My Brother

YOU ARE MY BROTHER

I saw you dirty, sleeping in the street,

Your dry hide, carbon smudged ancient pottery,

Your fingernails, black as oil pooling in the driveway,

Your hair spiked like hawk feathers clumped by doormat mud.

I mistook you for an asphalt ball

Tumbling out of a truck,

Raked then rolled into the road,

Or dung of vegetarian animals, dark green

Sea urchin exploding needles, grass.

What stroke of misfortune befell you?

Has some broken gene uncoupled your logic?

Why are your glassy eyes transfixed by chimeras?

Did some personal tragedy tear your psyche into two?

No bread for a father,

No home for a mother,

No education for currency, unemployed,

Misfit piece in a manufacturing assembly line,

You wander about, a gyrating flywheel unconnected to a machine.

If I filled your cup with coins, I myself would go begging

Because your needs are a bottomless horn of empty.

Am I, Cain, being called to account for your destitution?

Am I, Dives, caressed by fine silk, thickened by choice meats?

I tell myself I will live simply,

Giving to you beyond the needs of my family,

Working to create a better society in which the poor

Are less destitute and the destitute are less.

See, my heart is a pocket fraying holes.

Tracked by an accusatory finger,

I want to look away but I cannot—

You are my brother.

Originally published in New Asian Writing (May 7, 2015)

A homeless man

Tree Sparrow

TREE SPARROW

Chirps scatter…

You, slight, alight,

Switch your head,

Hop, swivel,

Tuck your arms tight,

Preen, puff, shiver…

Ready…

Burst in flight,

Bullet of feathers, wings, tail—

Prodigy of creation,

Breathless creature

So frail.

Originally published in Eastlit (August 1, 2015)

Eurasian Tree Sparrow

Judoka

JUDOKA

To my father

Grappling for smallest advantage,

Shifting weight left, right,

Right, left,

He tugs, pulls, jostles,

Feints, hoists,

Heaves,

Wound-up athlete

Poised to hurl, fling, explode…

Coiled jumper,

Drawn bow,

Hidden in grass, wildcat

Eyeing prey, he waits…

It happens—

Momentary weakness,

Instant hesitation,

Pause off-balance,

Sliver-sized opening, door—

Sudden soundless bolt,

Swift glider in descent,

Juggernaut runaway truck,

He throws his opponent,

Alarm bells yelling,

Pins him down

Penny-flat,

Binds his arms

Sheaf-tight,

Gasping fish

Struggling like water

To hold its shape.

Originally published in Whirlwind, Issue 4 (Spring 2015), page 26

He tugs, pulls, jostles...

You walk along shoulders…

You walk along shoulders…

You walk along shoulders of bamboo groves,

Starlight treads in your footsteps.

You go forward with shifting seasons,

Summer ghosts are left behind.

You rise as the wind of briefest memory

Pushing shutters gently open.

You arrive, fresh rain at the door ajar,

Softly rustling dry silk.

Your spirit rests in tranquility at table,

Folding itself into a napkin.

You dwell in silence in the deepest part,

Inside there is only silence.

You sleep illumined by the guardian moon,

Windless, the stilling doom.

Originally published in The Furious Gazelle (October 30, 2014)

Finalist, The Furious Gazelle Halloween Poetry Contest 2014

You walk along shoulders of bamboo groves...

Solitude is a healer…

Solitude is a healer…

Solitude is a healer of memories.

Gently, he rubs liniment on bruises inflicted

By verbal assaults, sharp words.

Cooling menthol soothes and spreads.

Originally published in On the Rusk, Issue 7, page 2

Solitude (2005) by Lena Karpinsky

Sparkling river of silence…

Sparkling river of silence…

Sparkling river of silence,

Traveler along a shadowy forest floor—

I drink deep draughts, lasting,

Of your overflowing stillness!

Tipping your goblet,

I taste your darkness

As floral wine

Swirling inside a crystal

And breathe in perfume.

Fingers of a spellbound existence         

Stop my ears.

Awe, black thief, steals my voice.

Bereft of noise, I am

Transfixed as the blood moon

Hovering, windless night,

Balanced on the sword tip of time.

The world is motionless

As my spirit moves

And my stumbling heart is filled

By a presence…and quiet…

A quiet presence.

Originally published in On the Rusk, Issue 7, page 1

Transfixed as the blood moon, hovering...

The Rice Plant

THE RICE PLANT

I held him by his slender neck

To pierce him under his chin

And saw white sap trickle forth

Like milk spills from a tin.

I shook him strongly by his thigh

To feel him flail like a fish

And heard his hands’ helpless sigh

Like sand shaken in a dish.

I bravely bent his youthful bone,

Which sprang with a painful cry—

I wondered how one so green and wet

Should so resemble I—

For I am brown and dry.

Originally published in aaduna notes (April 11, 2015)

I held him by his slender neck...