No Working Title

Be careful when you go
looking for the painful, improbable answer
to the question of forgiveness

You might end up
taking someone
who never meant to go there

Be careful when you go
on long, difficult searches
for what you think you deserve

Be so careful,
that you don’t end up
with nothing left to mourn
what you lost along the way

Two Haikus from Last Year

Dons of Ants, petty


of little nothings







(the sunrises and sunsets of the mountain peak

the one who walked past the bridge

birds flying past leaving no trace


From We Measure the Earth with Our Bodies (2)

Has this always been our family’s fate? To begin together in a few years of happiness only to break into so many shards? Reaching out my hand in the dark again, I hold my sister’s wrist. This wrist– this small meeting of bone and skin. It is made of our mother and father, their bones, their skin. When I hold my sister’s wrist, I hold the echo of their wrists. My hand travels up Tenkyi’s cool, damp arm, her flesh filling up my palm and fingers. This too is theirs. Although I no longer have their faces, at any time, I can squeeze this arm. I can kiss these cheeks. I can smell this hair. And by caring for my sister, I can keep caring for my parents. No force, no person can take this from me. It is as simple as that.