what of this [precious] life

First, they placed a white L-shaped sticker on the subway map. To hide the prepared changes.

Then, when the new line opened up, they replaced all the signs.

For the first 6 months, the signs pointed to A. Now they point to B. It happened in a blink of an eye.

Like a memory. A glance. A fleeting dream.

One day, I won’t remember what it looked like when it pointed to A. One day, they won’t even know that A existed.

She stood with a hand-held loudspeaker on the train platform, like a broken record repeating,

“Please watch out for the uneven floor surfaces. Please watch out.”

Everyday. For a week.

One day, she was gone.

The loudspeaker remained in her place.

It hung by a rope from its new owner – a cement column near the fence. A man’s voice replaced hers,

“Please watch out for the uneven floor surfaces.”

Please watch out.

I looked at my reflection on the passing train.

My body in the rushing colors and blurring glass windows over the not-so-subtle hum of metal against track.

When the train was gone,

so was I.

 

Jan 2015

symphony of raindrops like

toddlers laughing in puddles,
a plethora of perfect circle giggles.

musical notes bursting into perfectly timed half-fireworks, meeting free-fall’s end for the first time,
song lit up by moving headlights, car horns singing their harmony.

cotton candy gumdrops waking up for the dawn,
a slow float and tumble off the potted plants in the window sill.

morning on a soft day,
a faint greeting with misty kisses and dew-drop hugs.
a quiet “I love you” from the earth that slipped in past the city.

skyscraper birds

[daily]. lights like LEDs animate, surfacing the entire building. pixelated digital drawings of silver and white. swimming girl, flying birds, sitting moon, passing clouds.

on a polluted navy dusk, the digital moon merges with the reality of skyline. you wonder what is real.

[another day]. outside the paperback building, a flock of white birds. flying V-shape, never landing. was it like noah’s ark? instead of water on which they couldn’t land, they were met with steel n smashed up planes of concrete. panes of glass. they were out looking for an olive branch, but no signs of green.

i marveled. paused.            breathed.            a breath.            at the sight of white birds. crinkling. like ancient wax paper cranes. pale and silvery against the clouded sky. you wished for the slightest tinting of peach-pink cherry blossoms, perhaps a beating heart, but they were plain like yogurt. all the better.

why did they fly the same circle over and over again? a shiver. a sliver. a chill. wondering if they weren’t really the soft and airy-boned featherships i was imagining – what if they weren’t birds at all, [rather] mechanical renderings projected. they didn’t need green to survive. or citrus-kissed cherry blossoms for that matter.

but i did. i do.