Hollow Rain

What is like
an empty raindrop
falling down
on a parched field:
tempting and misleading?
It's almost like a
bubble,
but heavier,
offering no relief,
not able to quench any thirst;
just pretty.
It glistens as it
falls toward you,
down to you,
from Heaven.
It must be bliss.
It has to bring comfort,
and ease to this dry land.
But it barely splashes,
almost shatters
or pops.
What sound does
it bring as it
caresses your skin?
What sound does
this hollow rain make?
Is it silent like
snow?
Or does it truly
sound like bubbles popping?
Maybe it sounds like
carbonated water,
freshly pored:
a very very faint hopping. barely
barely heard. What
reminds me of this empty
rain, tempting but misleading?
What is as beautiful,
yet still insincere?
It smells of rain,
clean, sweet, moist,
but is it rain?
It gives no refreshment
no life, just pleasure
shortlived pleasure
and simple beauty.
It sounds like love.

water as rain

please excuse the periods

.................. One
.................day I
...............stopped
.............to....listen,
..........listen for the
.........rain. .I....could
.......hear.....it....falling
.....about me. Even when
....I listened hard, I could
..only....hear....it....splashing,
..when..the..droplets..hit..the
..ground; I could hear the soft
...trumming as the water fell
.....around..me...I..fell..in..love
.......that day with the sound
...........of..water..as..rain.

The Small Room Painted Black

I remember every detail
of that small little room
It had textured walls
that were poky,
and the windows were
boarded up
to keep out the light.
The walls were painted black
and everything in it was dark
except the little red
light that flashed when
the pictures were being
made. There were white
linoleum tiles with little
grey speckles, fun to
slide on with socks.
After he sold all his cameras,
that room was a home
to ski stuff, jackets, and boots.
I could hide behind
the coats, and no one
could find me.
We were playing hide n seek
and I hid with him
in that room painted
black because I was too
little to hide alone.
We hid there because
no one could find us,
and no one did.
I wish they had,
I wish they had.

I Am From

I am from the lavish graffiti
that colors old Englewood.
I am from cowering beneath
plywood bunk beds
fearful of who might be
outside my window.
I am from walking down
the middle
of the road, because the
sidewalks were too dangerous, the
drunks would hide under the cars
and grab passing feet. I am from
Filipino accents
Peelings, nuting more dan
peelings. I am from
pansit and lumpia to
sushi and tampura.
I am from laughing
until tears stream
down your face,
crying in secret because
it's not right to cry.
I am from the mountains
skiing in the winter,
hiking in the summer.
I am from humble Christmas
morning pictures, no presents
in pajamas
and lamb for Easter dinner.
I am from uniforms,
plaid jumpers that itched,
direct instruction (meaning
the whole class answered
in unison), recess as an eighth
grader, and folded hands.
Love, simple, complex love.
I am from love.
I am from

My Keeper

All I want to do is cry

and tremble

and slowly fade away.

I constantly feel lonely,

but this is just too much

to bare.

Why can't You take me home?

Why do I need to be here?

What is there to do?

This world is filled with

pain, it has no remedy.

I know You're here

for me, but why can't

I be there with you?

I want to curl up in Your

lap, and slowly drift off

to sleep

in the comfort,

safety,

warmth

of Your steady strong arms.