~painting by Ellis Kayin Chan

Gull Without a Sea

 

My life is unnatural,

my perspective as real as

Hitchcock rear projections.

Even my God has a stand in:

eyeglasses atop a thick book.

 

Plants are as close as I get

to fields, let alone woods.

I live for the memory of trees.

Granted, my prison is cozy,

It has earth tones for walls

and bric-a-brac for bars.

 

I relieve myself in a bowl

embellished by a mandala.

My window looks out

on man-made things.

Chimes hang from a nail;

a little noose to give

what I cannot see

an ethereal voice.

 

I’m going nowhere

at the drop of a hat.

The roof over my head

exhibits my gratitude.

My mouth speaks only

what is acceptable, so

not to be ostracized.

 

I bury my hands in

potting soil to feel

the touch of earth.

I water plants with milk.

My watch tells the weather

to my wrist, quickening

my pulse when it rains.

 

Living so high up

I can only dream

of what lies beneath.

Why does its beauty

hurt the most when

I try to fly backwards?

My Eden is unattainable,

sealed off by clouds.

 

I pour a salt bath

to conjure the ocean.

I am a wayward gull

lost in the city's sky.

Its cries are my cries.

Both of us homesick

for what is essentially

inside us.

 

 

9/6/22