the ocean is thick with trash
the waves waddle towards the shore
like marshmallows, like winter coats
out of place
the water is beautiful
under this sunset sky
three birds flap peace to the wind
I hadn’t realized I’d been living so close to the ocean,
the girl from the landlocked state
chases water as a woman
you forget about the ocean
when you’re in the traffic
concrete thrown up into half-baked sidewalks
but here, something within me tells me to
pause a little on this concrete shore
remember all the other times you were by an ocean like this
[riding with laughter and a friend on double bikes in Shenzhen
requesting 十年 to be sung on the shores of Taiwan
cousin hangman in the sand
the boy who told you the story of the snail and the rabbit on the extraterrestrial beach
brothers and Barcelona
. . .]
pocket the youth that escapes you
savor it all the while you grow up
on this side of the world
maybe that’s why the ocean reminds me to pause
the waves are always, rolling
back and forth
back and forth
never forgetting to play
always thick in reflection
under the sun
does it matter that you can feel the warmth of the sunlight on your shoulders, the salty sea breeze in your hair, and at the same time, see the storm clouds up ahead?
does it matter that the sea holds immense sadness in its depths, and yet at the same time reflects the joy of the sun in the glinting rhythm of waves?
do these things matter? do they have a place in business? in finance? amongst skyscrapers? alongside ships that carry cargo from one place to the next?
can someone say that it is okay to honor the new and mourn the lost all in the same moment? all in the same day. can someone shout this from the rooftops and whisper it in the shadows? instead of this. this silence. this, unspoken name. this covering up with words of new.
can someone tell the masses, “it is okay to not be okay on this day.” or even the next.
it is o.k.
it is okay.
it is ok to not live in the binary. in the ‘either or’ but to let things co-exist, mash, intertwine. mix.
Nothing in life is a true failure, mistake, or disappointment.
Most are just moments unfolding into moments, unfolding into moments – a kaleidoscope of sorts – a beautiful pattern that fascinates, mystifies, and bewilders the soul. In the thick of it, it doesn’t make sense and you don’t understand it, but when you look back, you will see its merits.