Rumination for Lunch

Gratitude Piece 

I can fall in love 

With the gentle scratch 

of grass underneath my

bare legs

With the weight of 

my book cradled between 

fingertips 

With emotion ignited by 

language coupled in

revolutionary ways

With revolution itself

great change is never easy but

we deserve a brighter way

I can fall in love

With Women shining

in resilience

bonded by experience beyond human vocabulary

With friendships close and distant

those who smiled kindly

and share a passing thought

With the turquoise car parked

in front of the turquoise house

in delightful coincidence

With the light at 6pm in April

shadow dancing on Victorian bay windows

dangling visions of gold-toothed days ahead 

Spider monkey plant

Spider monkey plant

In my kitchen window 

Languid and forgotten 

Long leaves 

Once elegantly reaching 

Towards dispersed 

West leaning light 

Now limp

Color of rust 

Reminiscent of sad

strands of straw-like hair 

Uncared for 

Left with out touch

No one to braid it 

Or run a comb

Lovingly 

Through matted locks

With patience 

And ease 

Affirming care 

Spider monkey plant

Just like me

Needs some water

And gentle hands

To imbue

Calm 

Loving kindness

How could I 

Leave my innocent 

plant sitting lonely 

in the window

Feed only on

Hope

Of eventual

Attention

Maybe one day 

the spout 

Of a sprinkling can

Will pour 

Hydrating 

Miracles 

And I will grow

Tall and graceful

My spider monkey plant

Will grow tall too 

The clouds and I

Clouds tumble

crosslegged on the hillside

Foxtail, dandelion greens, and oxalis

Breathe together one being

April wind says

                Sssshhhhhhhh

Clouds  u  n  r  a  v   e   l  

frayed like

The white blanket 

My Grandma Jo 

crocheted in the 80’s

Clouds move fast

Against downtown sky scrapers

But crawl so slow 

next to cars

that could be

  schools of fish 

     zooming along the 101

Where are they going at 1pm on a Tuesday? 

               The clouds and the fish…

With one eye closed

cranes towering over the Bay

are smaller than my thumb

no bigger than the bee 

Greeting shoelaces of

Walking

         feet 

And the clouds keep growing 

Sloppy cursive scribbled 

gray on blue canvas

I am much smaller

than the bee 

in the 

vast terrain of

      Existence  

The clouds and I

Part II

Clouds tumble, 

Clouds unravel,

Clouds move fast

Clouds crawl slow 

I sit still

I sit still silent

I sit still silently surrendering

I sit still silently surrendering self 

Self Portrait 

Confidence (like tides)

Comes crashing in

then slips away and

gently fades

Wind kissed cheeks reveal 

Twenty-four defiant years of lassoing clouds,

embracing mountains and

racing with definite days

Her hair is tousled from a battle with sleep.

Desire for change propelled her down Highway 1

in a midnight blue Prius accompanied 

by a copy of The Alchemist and songs of California

At every treacherous turn she sings louder

Fear of the worst case scenario

can’t penetrate the chorus of 

Sheryl Crow’s sun soaked anthem

“Alone” became a friend

Sometimes volatile 

crumbled like the pavement of Devil’s Slide

Threatening to crash in rocky salt water tears

Other times calm and nourishing 

like steam rising from a cup of tea 

Or the sound of breathing

Metronomically steady on the pillow

Blue sky melts into mist 

And meets the whispery Pacific Ocean.

The horizon’s gradient mimics memory 

of landmarks passed and worries of future unknowns

Untangling snares of stale love

She wandered…

And I remember her

Because she is a part of me 

Brother

Simple phrases sent you 

into spirals of giggles

“I like pie” repeated until 

We forgot what pie 

even tasted like

We shared an appreciation for the bizarre 

Pairing swimming goggles 

With princess dresses 

We took turns with Sunday comics

Pretending to understand 

grown up jokes about the 2008 recession

My earliest experience with terror - 

When you fell in a rushing river 

And I cursed myself for not being

The first responding hand to save you.

In a flash, I encountered the terrible 

hypothetical of a world with out you in it.

Something happened when I turned 13

It was my fault for hiding in my room

Obsessing over fitting in rather than

Joining you in an artful parody

of “Baby, You’re a Rich Man”

It was my fault - the shattered plates, the bent fork,

the door always slamming shut on laughter.

In Small Spaces 

In the After School World I remember

a slap on my hand for picking flowers that didn’t belong to me.

In childhood rage I tore at delicate tendrils and 

I didn’t know how to pet the cat but

my mother taught me to be gentle.

In earthquake safety drills I was told to seek shelter 

in the door way under support beams like 

the frame of my mothers body 

In fetal position, I remember 

hiding in small spaces.

Next to the heater,

sounds of screaming blend in 

with the heater

calm white noise

loud heat.

I’m through with memory 

In the spring of 2000 my family relocated

by way of Boeing 767 over the Atlantic Ocean.

In the story Papa tells,

I forgot my stuffed animal - knuffle - and

we almost missed the flight. 

In adulthood I forgot the language of my infancy 

But I remember the Dutch word for “God Dammit” 

On the twilight banks of the Boundary River

I listen to the stories of late aunts and uncles.

My body mistakes my fathers loss

with my own.

I carry him 

a runner, a bread baker, a birdwatcher, a father, a son, a brother, 

an expert at hiding.

I’m through with memory

*Li-Young Lee, City in Which I love You 

Ode to Lisa 

You wove magic into ordinary life

Though you weren’t one to knit or sew,

You spun stories like Athena crafted tapestries

On a heat-stroke hike

You turned a dusty rock into

The Sorcerer’s Stone

You inspired impatient little-kid eyes

To wonder if the ancient redwood trees talked to each other

When there were no humans around 

On the stagnant desert drive from San Francisco to Fort Collins, CO

When we grew tired of listening to the Yellow Submarine,

You braved a car sick stomach to read to us

You quelled redundant cries of “are we there yet”

With tales of a demigod and for the rest of the ride 

I wondered if I too, was related to Poseidon

In October when other families drove to the Halloween Store,

Your steady hands supervised cardboard 

Carved and painted to mimic a giant box of Cheerios 

Birthdays are shimmering jewels in my memory 

a scavenger hunt on Mount Davidson culminated 

In treasure hidden under a skull

And when I turned 12, you orchestrated 

A fashion show of thrift store couture 

Complete with a panel of guest judges hollering “make it work”

You are the spirit of every holiday 

In a house of occasional grinches and grumps

You always share your golden energy 

Thank you for teaching me to dream 

in a world with a twisted reality 

Backyard Bliss

When I was a child … 

My eyes were big as the bowls of cereal

I ate instead of dinner

Rice Krispies covered in amber honey

When I was a child …

I collected 300 snails from the yard 

a shiny slimy token for my father who

promptly put them in the compost bin 

When I was a child… 

words had eyes and 

they blinked backwards 

Dyslexia was a mirror and a failed spelling test

When I was a child … 

I was one of the boys 

wrestling with laughter and 

Imaginary swords in backyard bliss

Calle 24 

Funeral procession blocks the intersection

Of Bryant and 24th 

A whistle blows and

The leather-gloved hand says 

Stop

The white hearse drives by 

8 women on the side walk pushing strollers

Equipped with canopies to protect new skin from

Too much brilliant sun 

Life and death march

Hand in hand

Under the marigold sun 

Storm Cloud Over the Tenderloin

Survivor of silky silence much 

louder than pounding rain 

punching car doors and 

roofs of umbrella halls on Hyde Street

The drains are clogged with clusters of stars 

I mean - 

cigarette butts and cellophane leaves.

The shop keep rakes the gutters.

Forced to ignore upside-down hurricane hunger

striking for peace

and organized utopia fantasy

Please,

Let me break only one bone at a time.

The rain falls so heavy in the February sky.

The night I fell in love

Yesterday, the orchid’s

abundant blossoms overwhelmed

and tangled us together 

on the kitchen couch.

You sat, watching me chop peppers.

We shared the day’s stories,

and I felt to the rise and fall your breathing 

over the noise of the sizzling pan.

You whispered perfect imperfections,

I welcomed the weight like a blanket.

You exposed raw-edged truth and

I saw beauty in lessons learned.

I confessed 

mistakes I made with my own two hands…

I thieved in the past 

and buried the thought far away.

That night, the universe spoke to us though

kisses and bed time wishes.

We granted each other permission to forgive 

all the murky flaws waiting to re-surface.

Bicycle 

I race on pavement engraved with potholes

Secretly longing for collision.

I challenge each festering canyon on Guerrero

And ride against traffic lights like

Icarus towards the sun.

My cheeks are red hot, my thighs are pistons, 

My lungs wrestle and scream to be free of  

my heart - 

begging to be seen.

My hands 

are a portal to 

          life 

I once cradled 

a bird that collided with the window

In the same gentle way I touched

Your hands, your face, your shoulders.

Rampant, relentless over-thinking.

Cry Cry Cry 

push ahead.

The destination

doesn’t matter.

This body craves 

movement.

Releasing stuck-ness, 

sticky pain 

                     prickles 

         percolating

            hurt

             I am 

      hurt 

But 

I can fly 

Idea for a band shirt

I dated the singer from               

And all I got

Was a prescription for anti-depressants,

An obsession with old art films,

A nicotine addiction, 

And this shitty t-shirt. 

Missing Joy

The Universe and I 

Are in negotiation talks

For the safe return of 

Joy

Have you seen her? 

In the smile of a stranger

Or in the laughter of a

Friend

I can’t recall the 

Moment that joy slipped away.

She faded like peeled paint

Once brilliant technicolor Victorian seven sisters

Are now plain Jane blues and grays 

Gridlock

A pilgrimage to City Lights Book Store is my excuse

To wade through North Beach faces

Hoping one of them will be you

They say the City of Fog is seven by seven miles

But one time we calculated the distance from 

My house to yours and it was seven point two 

The gray malaise of Crescent Avenue can’t be so 

different from the view from your 5th floor apartment

But who can say for certain 

I can’t ask now

For a dawn drenched dream of mutual adoration

You left it clattering around the back of the bus 

like trash you’ll never retrieve  

Still, I pick up the book of poems by Leonard Cohen

Thinking to share a page with you before I remember

You’re farther away than I could ever reach by bike, car, or train

Traffic on Montgomery Street

I can’t move forward, so I pass the time

Riffling through receipts looking for evidence of what I did wrong 

Affected by gridlock: brought to a state in which movement or progress is stopped completely 

Hoarding Memories 

I see your green eyes printed on

the parking fine

Mailed to my doorstep

Titled “Residential Overtime” 

I remember the day I chose to stay

In pajamas sitting cross legged beside your 

Coffee table engulfed in a game of chess

Despite warnings to move my car

I risked it

To hang suspended in your

Sun drenched room

For precious moments

I ignored the warnings you whispered

Refused to veer away

Though you told me what might happen 

I chose the thrill of falling and jumped 

I don’t want to finish this story

10 beans of coffee in the

bottom of the bag you gave me 

Almost enough for half a cup

I want to wrap myself up 

in the February letter you wrote me 

And live inside the story of our intimacy though

I know now that it was just a story

My hope is wounded

Disappointment reigns and rains as 

I turn the calendar page to May

Farther away from your April birthday 

Rumination for lunch

As a cow chews on grass

Digesting over and over again 

Learning and forgetting how to stand 

While the floor feels like quicksand

the sky a tornado of change 

And the air I breath a flashlight 

Illuminating monsters I kept hidden for 27 years 

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank City College of San Francisco for feeding my curiosity and embracing my penniless enthusiasm. 

I’d like to thank my five senses for illuminating beauty and pain in the world.

I’d like to thank Sadie, Maria, my family, and my cat for all the moments of connection and love we’ve shared. 

I’d like to thank the Yelamu Ohlone Nation who are the first peoples to live on the land now known as San Francisco, California. 

I’d like to thank poetry for being a resource to explore and express my big-ass emotions.

Thank you for reading with care. 

Credits

All poems written by Marika Christine

* In Small Spaces includes a line by Li-Young Lee from City in Which I love You

The title “City in Which my Heart Breaks” was inspired by Li-Young Lee’s work City in Which I love You

Art by Holiday Hagan