Polaris

Barely visible in the horizon,

You were no Sirius--

far from it, yet

you were the one

I'd always known how to find.

It just took me a while,

hopping across constellations

(The Big Dipper,

Cassiopeia)

all pointing me toward you

and I plucked you

out of the sky,

put you on a ring

and said "I do."

Learning to Love

Screeching-- at first

the sharp edges

of two strange rocks

rough against the whetstones,

sparks fly

until softly

smoothly,

they fit together.

Curse

Fear strewn all across the living room

Her quiet aggression-- Mother is angry again.

Screeching and abrasive, her voice echoes in my mind.

Broken

Mother, her hand poised to strike--

Crushing pain in the child's chest

before the rod hits her.

At a Snail's Pace

A child is slain--

his body festers

in the sweltering heat,

a gun is gingerly kept

safe in a ziplock bag.

A mother with dead eyes,

she is on the news,

handed a bag of canned fish,

"It would be good

for what ails-- you,"

she is told, lovingly by

the Vice President herself.

A father in the emergency room,

he has blunt nails-- on bruised hands,

bloody tubes, without a pulse,

bright green motorcycle

in pieces on the highway,

fast food bags scattered

outside a gated community,

his last moments at 2AM

witnessed on the CCTV.

An archipelago in the tropics

from where the locals set sail--

for the deserts

and the snow,

muttering to themselves,

"Change is coming,"

Centripetal

it is summer again like when I first met you

the sun burns and the wind smells of grass

I am laughing again and falling into a sky

so wide and blue the world spins again

so suddenly I am walking in circles

with you unknowingly into a path

going deeper, and darker, the air

condenses onto the cold walls,

and droplets trickle down,

down, my flushed cheeks,

echoing against the walls,

of my beating heart,

my pounding,

against your chest--

I am spiraling

into you, 

into

the deepest chamber,

from where you would sow your seed,

and thunder rumbles.

it is raining again like when I first loved you,

the snails return, laying pink eggs in the grass.

Valentine

"Happy", spelled out in the bold letters across your shirt. Your eyes turned into the usual little open parentheses when you spotted me, unable to hide the smile behind your mask. When I slipped my present into your hand, your face fell.

"I don't have a gift for you!" you cried apologetically as you pulled me in for a hug, "Thank you!"

Paying no mind the crowded restaurant, you spent the evening making me laugh. You loved watching and poking fun at the clumsy way I ate. It was just us in our goofy little bubble.

Taking a walk after the meal, you held my hand tightly, and put your arms around me whenever you could.

(And we talked, love, about spending the rest of our lives together.)

"Happy?" I asked, and you nodded yes.

"Thank you."