Abby in the Sunlight with Flowers
To Walk Under Dappled Light
Dappled light on forested floor.
Leaves green, yellow,
Red on the tips of branches.
New growth peeking out into
Dappled light, delicate and dancing.
I, too, feel delicate.
I want to dance right here,
Throw off my shoes and feel the softness of dirt,
The hard wood of slithering roots,
The gentle poking of pine needles.
I want to sing to the trees,
And tell them I love them,
And I think I’ve fallen in love,
And I don’t know what to do about it
Instead, I reach out and touch
The peeling crinkle of birchbark.
I put my arms around the tree,
Rest my cheek.
I think if I wait long enough,
I might feel a heartbeat
Somewhere deep within
The birch’s chest.
The steady beating of a slumbering giant.
Mother Nature resting below,
Giving us this peace of the restful,
This wonder that only comes in dreams.
I hope to sleepwalk always, beneath the trees.
And in my dreams, I will dance
And remember this love that I feel,
In the deepest part of my chest,
The place I keep hidden the furthest away.
This elusive light has found its way inside me.
This feeling I’ve yearned for my whole life
There are parts of me that have been awakened.
Parts that I didn’t realize were resting,
Folded small within myself,
I feel the kiss of bark on my face,
The gentle summer breeze on my back,
This Earth, solid beneath my feet.
I kiss the tree.
(my love, my light)
I take a step back
Through the dappled light.
(I imagine I can feel it on my skin,
And I continue on
Through this dream day
In this dream life
ONE QUICK ROUND
Rain and the City
Aaron Min Soo Kang
The building piles upon like glass prisms that
blur secrets of their decay.
The fog coats the glass panes of the window sill
A lamp post throws itself with its
like a beggar scouring the floor for a
the rain shuffles like the pages of a textbook
a man with eyes wide open, gaze of a fish and arms of a
in the middle of the street
the avenue stretches its limbs reaching for the sun and
edges around the corner of the facades
In a lonely alcove, a child with her mother exits the supermarket with
enough to spare for the bus ride home, another
onto his mother's wrist and
sinks his rainboot in the puddle only
In the mother's mind, scars still linger, fanning out
just like a building with b r o k e n pipes
The marsh grass has greened
An osprey, I am convinced
The wind is time's breath
beat your head against the wall / with just enough restraint
There are nights, and then
there are nights.
Gnawing on fingertips in throat-burning snow
keeps me from swallowing the moons
of nails. I haven’t stopped biting (rip)
because of contrast I’ve been taught is too natural
to exist, like rose-fingered sunsets (rip)
too weak to flicker off now-dirty snow.
Just the gnawing for less color,
of white that brims with the memories of
sick winter nights, inhaling the aroma of rose water
that her pearl-lacquered fingers kneaded into shoulder
blades. Lying down, hipbones jut out like a startled butterfly
with scales left by jagged nails (rip).
The peach curtains pale in the dark cabin,
half-closed and limp in the frost-covered windows
But after the setting, I remember.
Some contrast is too natural.
Someday soon, I will plunge from a cliff somewhere
staring face-up into the dimming areola of the sun:
kiss me goodnight, darling, goodnight.
Aaron Min Soo Kang
the chimes of golden bells
like the two glass bottles
early morning fog
droplets of anxiety
echoes of laughter
noticeable lined curves
the scent of the flint of its skin
bottle caps that resemble
chinese checker board pieces
He's Been Crowned
the innocent transparency of its shape and the
tunes that play in every contact they make
criss cross patterns that twist and twirl
rapid rotations that revolve in between
each other, rolling and the unexpected falling
sudden breaks of
shattering distinct polygons and
secrets that scatter
every unique shard,
serrated and blunt,
sharp edges and tangent arcs and curves
bulky depth and scanty corners
Wish You Were Here
Knock at the Door
A demand for change and action
One unified voice
Made up of thousands of individuals.
They are anything but quiet.
Rallies and protests spread like a pandemic
Crowds of mask-wearing demonstrators holding up signs
We are not animals. We are human beings.
When people are being killed on the streets,
It’s simply too important to stay home.
New York or San Francisco
Different places with the same old problems.
Young Black men leave home,
Not knowing whether they'll return alive.
A routine march to work
Could spell the end of his life
He deserves to live longer.
Stop killing our children. Stop killing our civil rights.
Long-overdue is an uncomfortable conversation.
Question my friends.
What Are You Looking At?