she had a superpower
like no other
she could make herself so small,
so slight
as to disappear,
like camouflage
against the noise and chatter,
the barbs and stings
no one knew she existed
in stillness and silence
not a sound she’d make
save for the beating of her small heart,
gentle breath
that reminded her
she was alive
Photo by dominik hofbauer on Unsplash
I murmured your name
in the quiet shallows of the eve,
and who but the moon whispered back
in silvery, hushed tones.
“They were never yours to keep, love,” said she.
And the sly wind woefully swept away my tears.
A poem for the Winter Solstice by one of my favorite poets:
White-Eyes by Mary Oliver
In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he’s restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake.
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.
So, it’s over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he’s done all he can.
I don’t know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—
which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—
thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.
Featured Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
i cannot feel this way about you
just when I’ve reduced you to background noise
you find your way back to me
like that old 80s song that I love
playing on the radio
bringing me back to the way we were
to the way i imagine we could be,
note by bittersweet note
and without a single thought or hesitation
i follow
a heart full of hope,
feckless fool
The attachment wound…if you’re adopted, you might get it…
the ache that bends
till i feel i might snap
visits from time to time
a hollow within
that has existed since
the day you abandoned me
a window, the only light
in a darkened room
full of shadows that frighten
but even more so,
the endless, pathetic quiet
there is no one there,
no voice to soothe and cajole
the ache that bends
feels icy and hot,
defiant and soft
i demand it leave,
to no avail
the ache that bends
until I feel I might snap
and yet,
I never do…
Featured Photo by Khamkéo Vilaysing on Unsplash
Musings of a Taiwanese American Adoptee 