In the kitchen, at home

It takes common knowledge and a little bit of salt

enough to wash the pieces of steak out

of their blood, clean the remaining life for frying

fifteen minutes to slice and dice the vegetables

wash, again with salt - all components

scientific names or plain, hygiene is learnt

with the carving of a soap bar, or the sizzle of oil

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Tears, Gas, ecstacy

If you haven't seen the tears pour out of the gas
that shapes the borders of our city then do not
pretend like you can cry for safety when nothing
reaches you faster. Just say thank you for the way
you are away from the fire-line, there will not be ecstasy from
fire. Sometimes there will be tears, hot on your frozen cheeks
running water, in ecstasy, for the departure of salt and water.

Landmarks

here we know we grow by the variations of the markings set above
the white wall where we notice how many times we stretch higher
larger than what we were

here we know the place by what's next to it, a house
a green tree, or a dead one-
or as once a friend said the house next to where the dog is tied

here there are streets that have newly acquired names
like newborn children, fresh from the birth of destiny
these will be reborn, streets and children

here there are night watches, not for guard
but for safety because it could have been worse
it always can be worse than you expect

here people right in metaphor
because they are too scared to use their
actual tongues, for sharper blades

here, there is everything set under a landmark
a reference to known places, too familiar by breeding
these are the pieces of land we are meant to just pass,
here- never thinking of the space between the questions.

what if, you are not from here

Where is the east, you ask
looking into the sunshine's eye
one would stop you, do you even inhabit this universe?

big, light, seperate

Fairy lights on her window,
cellphone light on his face,
this is newness, a heart of a cloud
poured, shred, making a big world small.

Sometimes, no meaning

There are days when there is no meaning
to what you do, to the tedious curl out of the bed
rolling the cover from your middle and throwing
it into a repetition of yesterday's crumpled dreams
sometimes there are blanks, in the beginning
the progress and the end of the way the days fold
into your age, a year, another
sometimes, there are days when history repeats
what others informed, left behind
most days mean nothing on their own

Rise from the Ashes

Rise from the ashes, woman
make due the remains that got burnt
on the way to the market to pick up
new fabric for the clothes unable to make
for yourself because your skin keeps
burning like a charcoal, light then
darker to fuel the dates of others
the days of the children and the cut
out responsibility, they said phoenix
is a woman, her tears a river
her step fire, for herself, others
for a new next start.