On June, 14th

I wake up to Google’s reminder as if I’d forget
we were meant to celebrate your birthday, today.

For the first time, since you’ve been gone —
I approach your Facebook page, I don’t know why.
Perhaps like a holy grave, I hope to find you there.

Whatever trepidation I brought with me vanishes
as I take pity on the person, who is not aware you
don’t speak the language of the living, anymore.

Though sad, I’m grateful I don’t do social media
birthdays, anymore. Instead I turn to WhatsApp,
an archive, where I reread our last conversation.

“Lol!” is how both our last lines end, I cannot help
but smile at the absurdity of it all. Only God knows
how long I’ll hold on to our private conversations!

Coffee Talk

At a sidewalk café, I eavesdrop on a conversation between poets. Sensible artists on a sensitive topic of writing about family and friends; people who are always wary of misrepresentation, for they know writers can steal lives for fiction.

I hear writers master great dialogue. But this exchange spans hours. One poet claims a poem is not worth losing a relationship over, the other states truth is like poetry. The waitress looks at me and smiles, “Everybody knows poets are extremely gracious and generous.” I think about poetics of politeness.

If I were a poet— I wonder if it’s gracious to invite an artist friend, whose hurtful comment on social media I wrote about, for coffee. Not to ask permission, but to announce publication. Perhaps we’d need something strong to loosen the tongue.

unrhymed poetics;
an acrobatic movement
between two artists