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Magnolia

/

Forgive me, for I live in hope

You are master of the overwhelm

I am strong, but why test me?

I have my buoyant youth, but one day I will sink

Weary old stone

Although I am Odysseus

I will wait as Penelope for you, but

I was born on a magnolia tree

Too high for your mortal reach

A tree with a cherry picked

Can still bear fruit;

Even over a tomb

I am not a trumpet creeper 

Doomed to bloom on forgotten walls

I would rather starve than beg

I am a tigress,

And no hunger will tempt me

To eat grass

*          *          *

Jasmine

/

The jasmine hangs heavy in the air

As we kiss, consume,

And are consumed by the sprawl

We are in the city of light,

And filth; 

The rain drenched streets whisper smoke and sin

We are young and beautiful;

Ambling the streets addled with gin

It has been many long nights since my long nights with you 

There is a particular violence to silence;

I can feel it like a knife on my cheek 

Three thousand miles away

I do not know if love or hate moves you;

You do not tell me,

This deafening silence says nothing

It just is;

Like the scent of jasmine, it just hangs, indifferent 

And soon, even in its presence, I will not acknowledge it.

I will be jaded;

To love, to pleasure, to pain.

In my darkest hours I am happy 

Because to feel pain is to feel;

It feels real.

No matter;

I will survive. 

Even in this city of sin 

The innocent jasmine thrives;

And so will I.

I can walk on broken bones.

I can run on shattered glass.

*          *          *

Lotus

/

We come from a line of strong women, daughter. 

We were the lovers of kings;

The days belonged to men

But the plum blossom nights belonged to us 

We fought for our place, daughter 

We are war widows and battlefield babies 

They cannot beat the colour out of us;

They cannot bleed out our pride 

Think of all the hearts we had in thrall

When our hair fell to our waists

And we fell to our knees 

Empires fall but blood always rises 

The world is not a kind place for us, daughter

We ladies of the night 

But from the mud the lotus soars triumphant; 

Pure, and whole, and white.