Mamihlapinatapai (Yaghan: a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire)

Not in the slightest a rarity,

we find ourselves staring together,

speaking no sound—

noiseless knowing shared through glares—

daring each other to make the first move

but for moments, we

squint, smirk, squirm

like the night I said I loved you

and your first response, “I know.”

Then repeated, requited, “I love you” came back to me.

“I know.”

And we sat silent, steady and breathless,

starting to squint, smirk, squirm again.

We stayed quiet, ready, wanting

needlessly taunting one another

with strong eyes

but we required no words.

We require no words.

Ko No Yokan (Japanese: the sense upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love)

After sun fall one mid-summer night,

when all the light was city-stuck and incandescent,

you sat and glowed on your own

but no one near seemed to know

so I walked on over to steal your warmth

and you were hot-

ter than I first thought.

But you ceased to burn out so I

inched toward your flame and we played games all night,

acting pro at speaking prose

and blowing smoke rings at each other.

Then you spoke of Mark Rothko and a play that you knew—

I think it’s called Red,

and I’m sure my face flushed and resembled the play

as you toyed with my heart,

but you turned cherry too

on a mid-May night, in the city

with no light but your own that you shared with me

as we prepared to fall for each other.

Retrouvailles (French: the happiness of meeting again after a long time)

It’s been three days since our last embrace—

arms locked like links of chain traced around each other

and morning-dew-doused doe eyes of mine

made breaking away an uneasy ache

but your candied taste still lingers on my lips.

Even in my darkness-draped, unawake states,

I wait for you, but I’m hazy;

head and heart heavy and it’s only been three years,

I mean days

since our last embrace,

but tonight, we’ll tie our ribbon arms into bows

around each other and unwrap presence

that we know in each other.

Your sweet tongue will slur sugar through the dark.

And we’ll wake, weightless hearts—

Poem on Fear #5: Public Speaking

You sit, aligned, faces facing front, feeling me over
with your wide-open eyes,
waiting for me to cough up something wrong
or weird
or wild
or whatever will make you judge my thoughts.
And maybe you'll all toss pennies at me for each word I stutter,
but maybe, instead, you'll chuck hate glares my way,
hoping I'll mutter unintended words of nervousness
as nausea climbs up from gut to lungs and it's hard to breathe now
and my vision gets hazy and dark and I'm dizzy
and my heart thumps in my ears so I can't hear my own voice.
I just wish I'd drop dead because even my fear of death
doesn't compare to telling you all how I feel,
and right now I feel sick, shaken and stirred,
praying for judgment to be deterred.

Poem on Fear #4: Alone in an Elevator

No clue where to go when you trap me.
Four walls, tinted dreary -- grey, matte, dull --
glued together, or nailed or screwed, like me when I'm in you
and have twenty floors to go, or maybe just two,
boxed in being pulled my twisted metal wire,
making me mental and paranoid that you'll drop me to my doom,
no one around to see your sadism gone too far.
Or you let me live--or you let me believe that I can--
and I walk through your mouth with my foot caught behind
and your teeth start to shut until they clamp on my leg
and my lungs have already collapsed twice in five seconds.
But to my surprise, you release me to move forward in life
and get to my class or hotel room or wherever I need to be
that seems to need you for assistance in transportation
when my hands are too full or there are x-many stairs and I'm alone.
So I stand for a moment, staring back at you
as you make your slow descent to take others captive
and make them face death.

Poem on Fear #3: Synthetic Symbiotic and Scared

Two and a half each, taste bitter under tongues
we swallow any fear and let it slide down our throats--
soaked in thick spit we hope will be a good coat.
But now even water tastes gross.
Five minutes in, I'm stiff, shaky, sure,
"This is bad," but you promise others, "I'll look after her."
My head falls back, heavy and hot and there's sweat on my neck.
Your eyes, fixed and furious, stare straight into the ground,
turning into concrete wrecks popping grey under us.
We walk in his room and you take my hand,
palms sliding around and we can't feel each other.
Soon sounds start to sway and swim around the room
and we climb on the bed, sink into its foam,
cover up, hope to dream but our eyes won't close.

Music moves up and down us, in and through our ears
and we taste it and it's tone--colors roaming, undecided,
now colliding, riding one another
drawing gods in the air and our hearts are big drums.

So I close my eyes but you can't do the same,

but I'm taming myself and my body is calm so I
wrap you up in me and see
you wrapped up in me and I'm scared again--
I'm not in my body.
Now I'm crying and voices inside
knock on this third-story window and the words are warm
but the air looks like worms, red, green, pink, orange
rearranging my thoughts into wars
and my heart drums again and so does yours--
I can taste it and it's bad.

I hear my brain fizzing and you say you smell death
and my eyelids stretch open and the desk is melting
and your words don't make sense
and you cry hard and loud,
so I squirm and you scream and you peak so I peak
and you're happy then sad
then you're scared and I'm scared
and it's bad.
This is bad.

Poem on Fear #2: Trust

Please don't come too close.
My heart's sign glows CLOSED,
red and neon enough for blind eyes to see.
And it's strapped up in shackles, rusted.
Chained tightly behind my breast with
brass bolts ensuring it's bonded and bound,
entwined so unfound, or at least undiscovered
and it's clear you've no clue how to leave something uncovered.
So it seems you're still inching toward breaking the bondage
but I beg you to stop.
The word "trust" is unwanted, unwarranted, but you're fond of it.
And you whisper it over and over and it hurts to heart
and my ears are bleeding you make soft-spoken promises
and keep repeating that word, wielding more fear in me,
working your ways and making me say it too until I trust you,
but I really don't want to.