With love

Poetry

I'm Sorry For My Lateness

I have never felt the weight of easy

in this sense or the idea of fresh basil growing

from a tomato can.

Having you twisted and folded

brings past losses into a remember when. If I

cannot sit silently with you

without a certain mass of giggling

perhaps we have learned that there is no

ounce of suffering in love.

I feel you bending in the U's of my fingers and becoming 

inexplicably a part of my morning breakfast. Did

you know my teeth bleed when they are touched not even hard

and they ask "for what do we owe this pleasure?"

If you would like to know, I took the bus route on Sunset

to Santa Monica and the whole way, I tied myself

to an arboretum of growing love--sprouting beneath the poppies

I take my time with arrivals and always manage to come

within three minutes of a deadline.

Though you are angry without a courtesy call, I am still

learning to be slow and unhasted with my promies

and dually learning to keep them.

Elizabeth Hsieh