people watching

Afternoon Park

There is something beautiful about kids
in a park. Laughter fills the air, and a mother’s 
voice glides with the wind. The sun setting 
peacefully, and these kids completely unaware 
of the concept of time. Golden streaks rain onto
newly cut grass, and the sound of their young 
voices in unison as they announce game rules. 
The fast runners chasing a soccer ball, their 
legs never seem to tire. The wonder and frustration
that fills a child’s eyes as they try to ride a bike
all by themselves. “I’m a big kid now.”

They are beautiful and they are happy, and I
find myself jealous, with the pit of my stomach churning
for youth. When flying on your bike meant you 
were on top of the world, and you only said 
goodbye when the sun did, ready to say hello when 
it would rise. They only cry over skinned knees and 
time outs. I sit, envious and still, thinking of these 
kids and what they will become in five years. I
hope they will be the opposite of me. God, 
I hope they’ll be happy. 

Always Strangers

I believe in strangers. Sit in 
a coffee shop and watch, as their 
fingers dance across 
notebooks or Mac Books, 
or watch their eyes as they 
listen to their 
crush, friend, lover
as if they hold the entire world inside 
them, and looking away would 
break the universe into chaos
with a simple thread that
holds all of these people together .  

We are all strangers,
and I’ve always believed you are 
a stranger since birth – a stranger to your 
parents until the moment you 
are born. But with you,
I feel like I’ve known you, 
loved you, 
held you, 
and kissed you. You 
don’t feel like a stranger, 
you’re so strangely familiar. 

Painted Sunset

Tonight was like any other night,
except this time I focused more on the sky
as I sat inside the coffee shop. I looked out
the windows, like a fish in a bowl,
I felt small and alone although surrounded by strangers
who are talking about their life 
or working on their laptops with furrowed
brows and creased fingertips and foreheads. 

I watched the sky tonight 
and the spectrum it created – 
from a neat blue that brings comfort 
to a blazing yellow, clouds exploding with color, 
to a splash of oranges and purples and violets
that splattered across the sky 
as if the painter was angry 
and threw his entire pallet onto his canvas 
and let the colors run together and drip 
like tears of a lover that no longer remembers me,
to dark blue that boomed and floated 
covering the world with its breeze 
that instead of giving, it took away the breaths 
of its admirers, 
including me.