At last, she sits upon her bed
An herbal cup of tea she's poured

Ocean blue sheets, against tan skin
A sunset in her crystal cup

Wrinkled fingers curl the glass
And rosy lips take in a sip

Fasting in FSM (Free Speech Movement Cafe)

written by a hungry, fasting girl.


You chew.
I watch.
"You want a piece," you say--
a mouth spraying crumbs
your teeth pestles ever so gently grinding
the food against the walls of your cheeks.

"No, thank you," I say--
all the while looking at your lips
gates of heaven opening and closing
to sour dough bread embracing
fiery cheddar cheese
ripe tomatoes
crunchy cucumbers
bread pieces soaked in heavy, red tomato soup

"All right," you say.
the redness of strawberries caught in the cracks of your teeth
and melted chocolate against your lips.

I think the glee held in my stomach,
escaped through my eyes
at the sight of your meal.
And as doors to my stomach's desires,
my lips uncontrollably smack,
yearning to recreate the sound yours do.

She sneaked a handful of tea leaves
from her mother's tin tea can
In her palm they looked like thick, shriveled, black ants.

Between the edge of her home with peeling, blue paint
and her red bicycle thrown on its side
she dug a hole,

and one by one the speckled daytime stars
fell from her fingers into their underground sky.

She had watched the tea leaves fall from her mothers fingers
into her teapot always gently humming on the stove
and she had watched that with her mother's touch
these speckled shriveled leaves came to life in full bloom

So now she sprinkled water on her tea leaves.
She gave those same black tea leaves from her mother's tin tea can.
room to grow underground
so that they could bloom
without glass walls caging them in.