When it began, I was just a timid girl with the weight of the classroom around me. Foreign faces and loud voices. I clearly couldn’t open up here. But your projects were interesting, Mrs. J, and you gave me a mission. I ran into the classroom the next morning with new ideas, and we tested them out with experiments. Science was a dose of therapy; a curious mystery. Sometimes I could sit on the lab stool and forget about the world while pipetting samples. Once my heart beat fast while awaiting the sugar cube experiment. We had a mission, professor, and we had energy. We bounced ideas; there were no dumb questions. The school was a haven. And this classroom; once apprehensive and full of uncertainty, became a fun backyard.
But then then the funding waned, and the project ended. And the season was over.
Seeing this once energetic hub now with empty seats and scattered papers gave me a sinking feeling. And then to see you, professor, with your look so timid and your voice subdued; I got the feeling that this is the end.
This is what the end feels like–
a sinking feeling,
a closed classroom.
Up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching
In the night…
Living just to find emotion
Hiding somewhere in the night
flint delta blinds
There’s a beautiful bird out in a forest. She flies her little wings up and down the hilly terrain near the glistening, cold Himalayas. They refer to her as Noori; this beautiful, colorful bird. On rare occasions they get a glimpse of her striking beauty. Yet always, they hear her tweeting her silly, sweet songs to herself. Tunes that echo across mountains, resonate through valleys, and penetrate through souls.
She makes me cry, this little bird.
I’d sacrifice a limb for her. I’d die for her.
There’s a little bird that sings her sweet songs in a forest. Her innocence is what lovers fall for. Her beauty is what poets write of.
who is my father.
Don’t torture me with pleasant morning air seeping through my bedroom window
I’m lying here under covers crying about my hometown, family, old friends, people, everyone, and everything that I miss
I see the words fuzzily dance up and down, slowly, in the computer screen ahead. I sit and stare just as she would, for what seems like a long time with no other plans in my life. And only then, does my mother make complete sense to me.
Months ago, my always smiling late grandma had said, “Look at you nani, gazing deeply elsewhere. What profound things you must be thinking of.”
And in complete honesty, I had explained, “Not really ama, I’m not thinking about anything at all. I’m actually just looking at the wall.”
Too busy making plans right now.
There will come a day when little things will be vocalized like they’re a big deal
Like telling the other that the fireplace needs new wood
Or asking if the grass is cut, or what time a regularly watched TV show will air.
Two elderly couple, friends with each other.
When one’s gone,
There will be aloneness while sitting on a rock, looking at some man-made pond near the nursing home. That will be the highlight of the day.
Too busy making plans right now,
There’ll be a day when little things will mean everything.