Sign Language

I dove
into the shuddering horizon blue
of your eyes,
as your pupils dilate in the dark
eager to capture all of me,
taking me in-
taking me

into space,
the great vacuum
once
I remove hearing
from your ear,
you can’t hear me talk
but you can see my lips
move for your attention,
and my tongue
licks the moist air to form
words-

they’re physical
a poet once told me,
now I know what she meant.

There is more than sound,
it’s the way my lips mould
against yours
and the fluidity of our tongues
that directs a
discourse,

my breath against your face
means more than the guttural vibrations
on your eardrums;

how sexy it must be
to have enough silence
to feel my fingertips’ whispers
pushing against your heartbeat-

that’s communication
uninhibited.

Landing a Waltz

Find the moment when
space, air
agree to lift and embrace
your descent;

remember
softly,
kiss the ice toe
to edge,

anticipate
like the first time
your mother, father,
let go-
as your first step

shoulders forward,
don’t look back

trust the seconds of comfort
of knowing
they are still behind you
watching

your feet,
let them
a moment of hesitation
to listen,

the silence
of your blades slicing
through vacuum,

even if you fall
and shatter
no one will hear you cry,

so give in to your arms,
your legs-
they want to move on
outwards;

let them
this disconnection
as if to say goodbye

before you descend
unsupported, boundless
as freezing water
eager to become one
with the ice beneath.

I can be your Harajuku girl

Watch,

I can be prettier than those girls you saw.

I promise,
no coarse yellow skin
after the opaque whites
I put on,

my sex
will not show through
my rippling gowns.

Pull open
my eyes,
if you don’t like them almond-shaped

they can be big and feline
in time.

And my deep voice
I’ll let you muffle,
just imagine one that fits
with these lips,
painted
small and quiet enough
for you to kiss.

Even my stubborn cheek bones
I will try to hide
in the shadows of my laced parasol,

if you are afraid to get too close
just close your eyes
and you can

touch me

like a geisha
and more.

Jeffrey

Not Jeff,
I never called you that
in fourth grade,

over a decade ago
you’ve become my habit;
your spiked-up hair, your thin
baritone voice, and the scent
you leave behind in my house
every Saturday-

you’ve indulged me,
corrupted me
with your sarcastic meanness;
I can no longer walk past
a fat lady without laughing,
remembering the things you’d say.

I even remember the marks on
your face like a constellation,
celestial like your Chinese name—Jin Yu,
brave universe; it fits
the devious boy I grew up with.

You are not my best friend—you are
my brother,

I miss the Yu that wears preppy polos and
pajamas that look like rags, I miss
the way you smell without cologne,

every weekend
when we’re at Uno’s
while you made fun of the waiter,
I’d take a deep breath
and relax knowing you’re comfortable
as yourself with me.

But things changed since
you moved away,
now every time I see you
I’m surprised, not

by your four hundred dollar sneakers;

There are no more
sad stories about girls
and no more cigarette smoke
to drown out tears that
you don’t want me
to see.

Even the constellation on your face,
the one I memorized, the Yu,
erased
by laser surgery.

I keep a vase of dried roses

Sometimes I pick one out and smell the dust gathered
between the brown petals,

Then I lick the thorns to see if that love still hurts.

Father

I have your testicles
in my hands,

please do not pull away,
it would hurt less
for the both of us;

I just want to see what I never understood-

Why can your scrotum envelop my cold fingers
Unconditionally?

Is there a father within
those pale white shells,
pulling my fingers tighter, closer-
They feel ready for my warmth
my forgiveness,
but you don’t,

You have been too proud and silent
to ask,
even your face seems frozen,
unmoved by pain;

Are you afraid to rupture,
to spill the reasons why
your seeds never became

Your son.

目覚め (Awake)

もし冬に
雪なしの風、
孤独音。

Moshi fuyu ni
Yuki nashi no kaze,
Kodoku oto.

If winter’s wind
Dances without snow’s presence-
It’s a lonely sound.

His Pillow

When we are not under
midnight shadows and cricket cries,

You want me only
on your side of the bed;
Are you afraid that

Your grey sheets are not dark enough

For my scent?

When I am
on his pillow,
whose words do you see
tattooed on my body-

I denied you

Because my pores are not inkless,
I blush and spill,
and I stain

Every time
Your eyes look
at the lock on your door
when we kiss.

Before

I have acid
rain on my lips,

taste it.

Your Carousel

I cried
The rain that fell last December
Hoping to wake your sleeping heartbeat、

I sat there waiting
Thinking of the black lace parasol
You used to hold in rain for an excuse to drown;

I wonder if that’s what you felt
When I called
And your mother had to hold the phone next to your face
So I could hear you breathe.

Then, with my wet hair and eyes
Left uncovered by your hand,
But by another type of black above me
I was forced to sing your eulogy.

A song of static
Sleeping adults, unaware of their screaming
Children running into your unlit carousel,

Breaking the unmusical winter that you adored,
Leaving silence only for the occasional
Tears rolling down powdered faces
Onto your grey skin;
You’d laugh

At my nervous pulse
Trying to recreate your laughter,

I was merely breathing
The hypnotic lullabies
That effervesced from the black porcelain eyes
On your wooden horses;
The kind of ebony you could not fall asleep to-
I smashed them,
After I smashed my own eyes.

Yet、
My hands,
They started singing, too.

Wings

I was lost in the sky this morning,
Watching the sun melt away the clouds

Until a plane broke through
My stare, behind it she was
Running

With the five year old me,
In the playground where I chased after sparrows
And she was always a step behind
Just watching;

She had given up her voice
Just so everyone could hear mine when I was born.

She was a slave that never tried to get away
Even when I wanted to climb on her;
She never ran,

She couldn’t,
With a leash around her neck
Instead of my arms.

The summer I left
I had my Gameboy and
Comic books instead of her
In my backpack,

Without goodbye;
I knew she’d be here, waiting

Until today
We met again but I didn’t say hello;
I wanted to see her run,

With me in her shadow

Crying as she surpassed me
Finally,
With wings.

Warm Ashes

Kissing you
Is like licking an empty ashtray;
I wonder if that sting
Means more than just the taste of ash.

What are the stains on your teeth are trying to
Tell me,
Am I more than the cigarette smoke
That darkens your breath
For a second.

Look into my eyes and ask why
They’re brown, not green; I know
I have to be like you
To enjoy the taste of the tobacco on your tongue.

And tonight,
Will I fall asleep with you smoking
Only to wake up to blue-grey ashes,
Breathless and scattered
On a street corner.

Blessing

I tried to pick up the tea kettle
Only to have my fingers scorched by the harsh porcelain.
“I can’t.” I said,
With tears covering the shame in my eyes.

You smiled,
And picked up the kettle yourself
To serve
The tea.

I wondered
Why it didn’t burn you the way it burned me,
No fair.

You continued to smile
While watching me sip my tea;
I was angry with it,
I didn’t get what was so funny.

But now I know,
The kettle was just as hot against your wrinkled fingers.

Just that
You knew I was eager and impatient.

Persona

I remember your face from that time
When mom told you to read me a bedtime story.

You came into my room
And took out Homer fearlessly
From the darkness of my bookshelf,
I wondered if you even cared that

I was scared.

But then, you sat next to me
And I saw
How different your face was from my impression.

You opened the book, and I was mesmerized
By the wrinkles that folded along your face,
Sketching your visage
Like the front cover of a used paperback novel-
Dried and discolored,
But you didn’t notice and
Continued flipping through the pages.

When you read
Your voice chilled me like the blank of your eyes,
Unmoving, I couldn’t see my reflection in them;
I wonder if you saw me

When you read about Odysseus’s reunion with Telemachus,
I hoped to see you smile
But no, you were afraid to crack the cement of your face,

And when you read about Priam’s plea
I wished for you to cry,
Because I wanted to ask you

Dad,

If your tears are salty, like mine.