Young Writers Society

27. Having Received the Gift of Knowledge

Pulp fibers squelch in my hands,
stick to the sides of a bucket,
float in water like egg bits in egg-drop-soup.
They are a galaxy,
swirling matter a volume of water,
cosmic and pedestrian.

They settle on a screen like dust,
even and sedate,
having travelled from stardust
to cellulose to a blender.
The water drains,
leaving behind lumpy perfection.

Deft, wizened hands lift the screen,
flip it like a crepe in the hands of a master chef,
and press the sheet of goop
into dry, pristine felt.
Like greeting an old friend or lover,
the sheet grabs the felt,
holds fast in the embrace of a sponge,
and rejoices in the squeeze of fabric.

Tomorrow, I will peel fresh paper
from the plastic sheet on my desk,
and be born anew.

28. Sunday Sonnet No. 4

A silence eats away at my insides,
beginning in my still and forlorn gut,
and gnawing at my lungs as it makes strides
to reach its place of feasting in my heart.

The holes the lonely monster tunnels through
are deep enough that naught could fill them up.
The world’s supply of jokes and thoughts and news
still barely makes a pessimist’s half-cup.

Your height, your breadth, your bright vivacity
all come in multiples of my own size.
It’s thus no wonder your absence tears me
to such small pieces that I’m vaporized.

I miss the wholeness of our sharéd days,
and wait to hold you once more in my gaze.

29. Very Extremely Nervous

You ever crammed for an interview?
Not a test, never a test,
never the little computer bubbles that require no. 2 pencils,
never blank lines and word banks,
all black and white mumbo-jumbo that swims in your brain,
not an oral test
which sounds terrible, even if I did those in German class.
That was like four years ago;
I do not remember oral tests.

I memorized the names of white men,
who I will meet tomorrow,
look in the eye,
smile at.
I memorized their achievements,
the buildings they designed,
the awards they won.
I have a thousand questions,
half of which will never grace their ears,
because I am a brat with a very large nose.
It is a flat nose, so who knows how much I can sniff out.
(#asian_am_i_right?)

I am not ready.

30. Spring Rebirth

One tiny pen stroke
assisted by the spring wind
will start my life anew.