goodbye reflection

to the mirror that formed out of the need 

for touching a wound in me 

externalized 

you appeared like an illusion

with hair the texture of earth,

skin the scent of wild sage, the kindest place

for a heart to beat, passed down 

palms of a grand

mother healer 

to the mirror that allowed me to see

a disheveled face, the brows 

of a father i could never name

in you, beloved - because of whom my heart

would race with fear, because of whom

a deeper heart opened inside the wound

wild and yearning for more -

an insignificant rock
longing for me

to the mirror that reflected unconditional

acceptance of whoever i turned out to be

when the masks i wore 

even to myself (how well one learns to lie 

in the face of learned and easy
helplessness - so i learn now inside the poem: being a child
is not the same as having no power)

wore off - a mirror that could not sustain 

the illusion reflected back -

a non-body 

how i wanted to see 

myself in you

instead i touched a ground, hard and true

mirror of my own creation
a desire not to see

kin 

in my native tongue 

circles kindness like a prayer gone extinct - 

wishing well, water waves spreading like a mirror, 

open arms, an embrace, breaking breaking

out of pain into forgiveness

to the reflection that scattered me 

all over a finite horizon, colored me in dusk -
told the sun to set without speaking,
told the beloved nothing of why
we must or we do
part ways

if we are waves

inspired by hnin

come beloved, let us see the fences that separate us

from each other’s humanity and our own, that convince us we need

protection from touch.

you are a river that forms from rain,

boundless. what if clashing is not so painful if we are waves?

what if the fires we start

start small and safe, then grow as we dance our bodies closer,

merge our souls in the sky as we were meant to be

together

shoulder to shoulder, holding each other to hold on to a future

with enough space to carry both our love

and our pain.    

water is what lovers give to quench the fire’s thirst

living inside these bodies thrown into the midst of wars
we never asked for,

nor were prepared to fight.

and what else is there to fight for if not to love more?

maybe these swords, these borders, these systems that make us

less human by making us scarce, make us make each other scarce

are not meant for our liberation.

for what else is a sword but a tool

for destruction?

beloved river,
sweet sweet wave,

come let me show you how water knows
no boundaries,

she just flows.