By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

The Ordinary You

it’s in the way you flip your hair
that half-drawn smile
the way you bite on fresh
watermelon
the way you swagger
and stammer and paralyze
your tongue
the plainness of your conversation
your lack of conversation
the choice of your words
your lack of words
your commonness
the ordinariness
. . . is beautiful

 

The song of the grass

 rising, falling, like musical notes
I hear, the song of the grass
the echoes of words
truths that are true
in the moment
shifting with the winds
warm, cold, soothing
piercing, sharp
an obsidian blade
cutting deep
slicing through
thinly, without a sound
a hum of pain, a song
killing softly

 

Growing

saw today, my own limits
a witness to abundance
without human care
trees left on their own, untouched
living from their own decay
the poop of passing birds
and the dance among the elements
I stop, in awe, at the colors
the flowers and the fruits
wondering whether I actually exist
made beautiful, by an angel’s poop
and massive human decay

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