Pepsi

In my dreams

Monks laugh

And drink Pepsi 

Under tarps in markets

Where the air is thick and warm

Wafting scents of spices and fish

Coking sausages

And pungent durian

Eyes adjust from glaring sun

To shadowy passages

Between stalls

In my dreams

I weave my way 

Through colourful crowds

In loose clothing

Past jungles of ferns and orchids

And crates of fresh yellow mangoes

Spiky rambutans

Plump dragon fruit

Chasing a woman on a mission

For fried potatoes and plantains

The monks in burnt orange

Have nowhere to go

Content drinking syrupy liquid

Relaxing in the afternoon heat

Present and aware

Motorcycle

You sweep a wide arch in front of me

Black on black

Gleaming in the sun

My foot falls fast on the pedal

As your life flashes before my eyes

One short instant

Torn apart by greying asphalt

Before you ride clear

Leaving me in awe of life’s fragility

Sharpening the landscape

Casting the afternoon in a dream-like glow

The Wind's Tricks

 With apologies to my mother.

South Wind, you mock me
As I grieve.
I implore the heavens for a vision
And instead am blinded by tiny snowflakes.

These tears that stain my face will never dry.
They are my gifts, left unspoken, to the children.

I think of my mother's face, creased in crowsfeet,
Lines of laughter and joy.

Mother, I am growing older too,
But my face is etched with a furrowed brow,
Lines of worry and despair.

I always dreamed of laugh lines,
Carving out memories of a happy life,
But fate had its own mind.

You were always the strong one,
A shining example to look up to.
You have vision.

I forsook that path for rebellion,
Teenage angst and a will for adventure.

Now I stand in the ruins
Of wandering whimsy,
The North Wind's winding path,
Abandoning me like an Ijiraq.

I will shed these tears for the children.
I hope they will grow old,
With faces lined with laughter.

Cosmic Dreams

For E and Troy and Vicki

I remember all my shooting stars

Shining so bright, lighting the way,

But the atmosphere was too great 

And space was too dark,

So they fizzled away.

And I want to be a rising star

But I feel like my orbit is too low,

And my spark is too small.

I try to shine brightly

But the darkness closes in

Threatening to engulf me.

Where are all my shooting stars?

They shined so brightly 

But too soon they were gone,

Leaving me all alone

In this empty vacuum of space,

Thinking, wondering, dreaming,

Cast upon a different path.

I am no star,

Just a faithful planet

Plodding my course,

My path preset by fate,

Dreaming I was a shooting star.

Clarity

It seems that God has come to me,
A religious tourist,
Bidding me to walk across hot coals
To find salvation.
He baptizes me with tears,
Cleansing away my demons
So that I may walk without fear
Of the shadow of death.
He snatches me from the teeth of wolves,
Breathes holy spirit upon my face,
Then leads me through the curtain
Where at last it is unveiled.
God undresses to stand before me,
A woman.
Then she chuckles and turn around to reveal
Another zipper.
My fingers fumble
Until, at last, I am assailed with the flash
Of the Big Bang.
And all the Cosmos slowly slip out...
So that I am but a tiny speck,
And it seems that God has come to me,
Because my body is a temple.
And within it shines
The same cosmic light.

A Woman's Intuition

Women are taught to trust their intuition.

Men don’t have to, because men don’t need to.

Women have to look over their shoulders,

Be afraid,

Because even though

This is a safe neighborhood,

There is still that flesh memory

Of wrongs done

Imprinted into our skin

Since the time we were born.

“Such a pretty girl.”

We have to be pretty,

But that makes us sluts.

We’re asking for it

By the way we strut,

In those shorts,

Down the sidewalk,

When the sun’s about to set.

And now we don’t answer your catcalls

So we’re bitches

And we’re whores,

Because whores are people who don’t sleep with people.

It’s a new definition, just in,

And you better agree,

Because your opinion doesn’t matter

And your voice isn’t welcome

In this discussion.

Just do as you’re told.

And even though this is the West

I still feel that tingle on my spine,

When I walk one block after dark.

I feel the Mulveyian gaze upon me,

My eyes and ears are alert,

And I’m probing the darkness

With my sixth sense.

All the while there are visions in my head

Of men jumping from bushes,

Of girls going into the fields to relieve themselves,

Raped and slaughtered.

It is our collective memory.

Our gender wears it always,

Like a yellow patch.

And if we try to fight it

We’re hysterical,

Unreasonable.

We are fragile and feeble-minded.

We haven’t a clue what we are talking about.

So now you are going to look at me and say,

I’m a feminist,

Throw that label on me like some sort of slander.

But I am female.

And until I can step outside my door

Not afraid of my own footfalls,

I am going to put these words out there,

And dream of a better world.

Midnight Bullet Train

We don't sleep here,

At the edge of dreams,

And nightmares, 

The city sprawled somewhere near

And glowing softly,

Where ideas flutter in a flurry,

Furious wing-beating, and competing,

The brain rides a bullet train

From station to station.

And in the next room...

A muffled cry

For, in the shadows

Our deepest fears lie.

They bubble to the surface,

Inky black,

And while the city sleeps,

I weep

...

And later while the sun rolls out,

I'll nap!