Bourgeon

Yellow Whistles, 2021

Buttercups sway in the wind on wispy stems, tiny fairies in grass forests, chirping silently of meadows and woods seeking to escape from tar and cement through cracks in sidewalks and at the fringes of parking lots, they lift golden bowls

outside stone temples like monks draped in uncut cotton swaths the color of sunrise surrendering to the kindness of strangers filling their tak bat vessels without a sound, each grain of rice shared

plants the seeds of compassion, the whole street becomes a sacred space, where the divine spark breathed into each soul links up in mutual aid, braiding into a garland of marigolds spicing up the air

with the blessings from a thousand hands, joining in leaps of faith, fragrantly ephemeral chains of flowers tying families, friends and neighbors into one Milky Way, an ethereal veil of citrine stars connecting different galaxies into one universe where

a banner of bold yellow letters builds a yellow brick path where heels click to reclaim home, which is not a White House, but a freedom plaza where people from all shades of the rainbow
come to affirm that black lives matter

and yellow whistles stand guard in pockets or next to hearts, until they are kissed by lips calling for help trusting it will come to Stop Asian Hate, a wordless song of solidarity that all belong

Pacyinz Lyfoung is a French-born, Minnesota-grown Hmong/Asian American woman poet. Her art reflects her ongoing recovery of her Hmong/Asian heritage, documentation of the Hmong/Asian American experience within the broader context of the communities in which she lives, and contribution to the visibility of Hmong/Asian Americans within the fabric of American society. In DC, as a bike commuter, she has explored the District along streets and paths, up and down small and big hills, catching details at the slow pace of a bike ride. Her favorite places in DC are outdoors/nature community spaces such as the National Botanical Gardens, the National Arboretum, and the Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens. During the pandemic, she really focused on poetry as a means of building community and bridges among various groups, in solidarity in the struggle for racial and economic equity. 

Image by Yeon So Jeong, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Our Pandemic Blues

my friend Jack tells me about
this new syndrome called surge depletion.

it’s like
our human batteries are running low after working so hard to stay
in place due to COVID, economic collapse, an election
that resembles a circus with albino bears riding bikes
through town, promising to give us a piece

of the pie,
lying out of every orifice possible. it’s all i can do
to get out of bed. i’m in a capture-and-release
program but never released. i’m a kite in the sky
with no strings. i’m a yellow mask without a face.

what’s a sane
person to do? grin and bear it? eat more gummies?
camp out for hours in front of a computer and embrace
your digital self? it’s our first pandemic, people. we shouldn’t blame
ourselves for surge depletion and ambiguous loss.

i say wake up,
drink some tea, watch the sun crack open an autumn sky.
hell, buy yourself some down time and forget about the cost.

What We Learn of Faith
for Nick Bozanic

is to trust the heart.
It’s like a trout in the river,
swimming with ease
and confidence, hunkering down
under the fallen tree
to rest.

Sometimes it breaks
the surface, leaping into sunlight,
splashing back
into the water,
gone, quiet, invisible,
but there. Always there.

David James has published five books, six chapbooks and has had more than thirty of his one-act plays produced in the U.S. and Ireland. He teaches at Oakland Community College.

Image: Tasnim News Agency, CC BY 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons