They say a poem means nothing
until you hand it over to your
lover to read it in the dark.
I hand everything over to my lover,
even my own hands,
for all the ways she is with them
that I am not.
I think I was a vessel in a past life
carrying hundreds of soldiers back
to their forbearing wives;
I hope they all made it home.
The last thing water wants is to hurt
you even if you shoot all its waves
in the head.
Early this morning in the garden,
I saw a man dancing in the corner
with his belly out,
it was as if he wanted to keep his
happiness as a secret,
but now I saw him, and I didn’t know
what to do with someone else’s
happiness.
When I got back home,
my lover looked at my belly and asked
what am I hiding?
I laughed, but I wanted to tell her it is
not my happiness,
it is someone else’s.
Sometimes I feel I am alone as a
cop is alone,
until he catches a murderer to
prove his bravery.
But I wouldn’t share this with my lover,
I would have her eat her dinner in peace,
without any voices.
When she wakes in the morning,
her face resembles the horizon—
blue, bright, and sunny;
birds sing folk songs
their mothers once taught them,
and for a moment,
there are no warplanes in the sky.
