Mail

Dear Sister, I have brown eyes,

Brown weathers, & brown angers.

I have vase: Roses striking open bottle-neck

With mosquitoes in waters, breeding.

– Those flying creatures

Are too afraid to throw themselves into the arms

Of webs woven by July and June.

I’m scared of spiders too – concerned that

Their eight-legged lives

Are incapable to settle on one leg

To show me where to go.

Sister, I also want to learn

Kindness; has spent too much time reading textbooks,

Now the dates of schoolyears have rusts crept upon them.

Even on wooden desks I can fall asleep,

But the jet lag of childhood

& Rules is hard to endure.

The bell rings. Run. Go down stairs,

Waiting to be picked up by a kite,

Mp3 in my pocket playing 3 mins of thunderstorms.

– – I can’t find my keys anywhere, sis.

Now I feel cold:

I forget I left my scarf behind in which winter.

Now standing by the road, waiting to be homed.

Nailed onto the ground,

Into a street lamp that cannot glow:

I have shadows also.

I am waiting for blue skies yet to come,

As waiting for a bus arriving late

Driving me home.

The road home is long to go,

Long enough for me to recite the entire

Passage of spring learned on my own.

My Sis, I was thinking of you

Along the road,

& Remembered that I own names,

& Brown eyes hadn’t so gloom.

2022.1.2