miso soup

The waters are still muddy, clouds of dust simmer beneath the glittering surface. Miso soup. Scallion bits float and dance, tofu sinks to the bottom.

The sinking feeling, the heavy fall and light stretching. Stars that are distant and past, like memories – we only see the lights that make it through. New memories still await, new futures from here to Micronesia. 

Always on my mind, feels like it’s always … me again, 4 years old, no 6, with a backpack climbing mommy’s shoulders. She carries me, her youngest, heartbroken. Poor mom, and dad – alone, sleeping in as his 20’s waste away. Lethargy stunned him, a new country with a new language, different values. Was this the life he saw? Time will heal him. I know, or so I think. 

Old grudges remain. Now nudge me in that direction, pinball machine just don’t let me fall in between, through the cracks. 

Dear God, at least I never smoked crack. I never had the chance, never had a dance with the Heroine sticker. A light flickers, hope awakens in the inner peace and I glow. What do you know? It’s not who you know… but who knows you, that’s the one who will stay.

Remember the milk in the nursing bottle. Whole measured to the ounce with the strawberry nesquick. We get tucked in, air conditioned, some man’s idea, and a cartoon fix. I liked being a kid, and the world has been good to me. 

On kids – one day, I say. But God should have a plan, is there anything else worth striving for? This is a beautiful world for our younger, and I’m now learning to fight. So that’s going to be fun, I didn’t know I had this in me,

Who was I back before? I admire so much, I won’t lie. But what part of it was me? It feels nice to write again, despite the confusion. Today feels special already, and you know why. I’ll come find you finding your way to me. 

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