winter libretto.

1.
as the pacifying sun warms the morning display,
a mantle of snow calmly coats the unassuming landscape.
soon after, I realize that today’s serenade
will be melodies of heartfelt laughter.

later, as we sit
by the fireplace, we recollect
and i ask
both my Grandparents
about that night in Nashville, circa 1947.

She, a sparkly gem, describes the jazz place where they meet
filled with smoke and percussive feet-
He, a noble soul, takes off his hat
as he kindly asks her to dance
And she, taken aback,
just thinks he is the handsomest man.

I listen to their story
and realize how vivaciously raw
unpretending Love can be,
and how present, past, and future tenses
don’t always alter the vibrancy
of romantic experiences.

Then we feast, at my aunt’s,
where words like “too much” cease
to mean anything.
and all of us, numerous,
drink wine and rant about how
we never get to see each other enough.
and here, at this cradle of kindness,
we constantly radiate love.

2.
a house of heat and oxygen tanks,
in a Carolina land that hosts
an infinite amount of pine trees
and pickup trucks.

He, the Candy Bomber, sits down
sips his coffee and shares histories
of translation and unorthodoxies:
“I traded a pack of cigarettes
for your Grandmother’s wedding ring,” he says
as he remembers the things he had chosen to forget.
the narrator thanks me
sense fully, and barely breathing,
as i pat his violently coughing body.

a pause, then a sigh:
“that fall of ‘45
Berlin was left starving,
and I got a Purple Heart
for simply surviving.”

he then mashes food
in the butterfly room
and tastes his dinner
with wrinkles of experience.

and we
try to be immune
to the renaissance tunes
but celebrating the birth of the One
is hard when you’re preparing to mourn
the death of the Other.

3.
a thank you letter
and a brief recollection of Birmingham:
a rapture, and
a fondness
of its forest benevolence
and crispy sunshine air.

with a contagious laughter,
its participants jovially
ruminate
about pain, its effects,
and romantic social etiquettes.

but it’s not part of their nature
to dwell on decadent possibilities.
instead they live, gleefully,
blaming superstitious activity
for life’s strange occurrences.

and as I nonsensically,
factually, say that “I believe in energy”
they, good-heartedly,
express amusement and agree,
emphasizing how one
doesn’t necessarily have to speak
the same language
in order to be comprehended.

so,
a thank you letter.

to those who defined “this is worth it”
so much better than anyone else.

4.

i love sunshine.

but what i love the most is
sharing it
with people
who close their eyes
and tilt their minds back
to break the uneasy ties
between faith and reason.

seemingly disorganized,
i live drastically different occasions
at similar, familiar destinations
completely unabashed by the instability
of my plans.
and, like a marvel in sand,
alone, i find comfort
in my own misplacement;
i find pleasure in boundless Disorientation,

and i find joy
in witnessing the sounds of
Life’s perpetual surprise.