Dust of me

It’s the edge:

where the glass subtly clouds as my mouth bristles against it,

lean near—there are faint streaks and stains,

so I stay at the edge because the center feels too

honest

too much I saw

I still leave smudge there all the time

the patterns cleanly reflect me, but the surface

softens eventually and less certain

A fragment across—it’s faint, and I slide my fingertips between the

cracks, each spiral of skin capture the sharpness,

then my attention shifts to the center, again

As if it might confess something different the second time,

last winter I stared it too long, until I shattered everything apart

So I study smaller things instead

until even the dust along the frame

starts to resemble memory

they pile up from the corners

never have I touched them

afraid that if I wipe the surface clean

I’ll erase every version of me

But the center still holds my face together

perhaps more accurately than my grey memories

TT

The Korean Flower

Her glass drops reflect the eyes 

she once had sown,

as she sinks into the innocence that never 

drifted away 

A soft breeze swirls her silver hair as she 

slowly collapse 

her wrinkled eyes,

brim her lips 

with the last water,

cascades of them 

she last colored, 

kisses of sun bleeds through her body

Petals she collected in her vase,

withered too soon before goodbye–their

picturesque shades soak the 

great emerald beauty, floating 

Roses of Sharon on its gentle shivers,

and how she watch her fingers slip away from those

fading memories and the blooms

Gentle laughter of her children echoed like wind chimes,

each mellow tune harmonizing in her ears

and then she saw–

her daughter’s warm tears trickling down, her 

trembling hands cradling the weathered palms

that once taught her how to hold the world

With her last breath, the mother whispers one final lullaby for her daughter:

when mother leaves to pick oysters in the shadows of the island,

the baby stays behind alone, watching over the house

then, to the lullaby sung by the sea, 

slowly and gently, the baby falls asleep,

hoping that her daughter would marvel at the 

ephemeral Nature and one day realize 

how petals perish 

beautifully.