Landscape with Cypresses

Photo reference: Tuscany, Italy

For the background, a wide stroke
of undecipherable blue:
for the foreground, dabs of red poppies
dotting the quick brush strokes of grass.
The clouds, patches of bright white
and light grays, temperamental
over the layers of land that rolls
in different shades of green.
Mountains at the distance
can have the same color as the sky;
roofs of scattered meadow houses
can shimmer cloud white.
And the crowd of cypresses, darker
green - dark as secrets,
and tall as beehive hairs of queens
conferencing under the sun,
trading gossips.

Anticipating

My gaze traveled carefully at your profile - hunched, world-weary and heavy with sighs, the scrotum of your fantasies shriveled and dried. The shadow of your hand moved reluctantly from the table. The crushed apple bits crowded comfortably in your glass. Your fingers hugged the cold of the fruit juice while it lasted.

Then I imagined you reminding yourself of his ghost on the opposite chair.  He would've made a joke about the height of your newly-colored hair.  Your wrinkles would have laughed easily with the crescent of your smile.  He would have forked the silence from the table to his mouth.  How easy it would have been to hear
the boom of his laughter, the deep heavy breaths -- if only he was there.

I'd like to know how it felt - the hardness of his metal chair.  But you'll have none of it or any others - you'd rather have air.

Sino-Envy

Their customs are not ours
and you're barely fair-skinned
while I look more jihadist
than tycoon scion.
But we visit their temples,
wave  incense sticks
and pray to their ancestors
for guidance and luck.
You've never learned how
to write your name in calligraphy,
never learned how to thrust
the sword to the air
with a certain art,
have portions of your body
punctured strategically
with pore-thin needles,
nor speak in the lilting
staccatos of their varied
native languages.
I marvel at the nine eyes
around my wrist,
and the triple infinity, gold-plated,
keychain in my pocket.
Sometimes I wish I have
a necklace with a pendant
of an alligator's teeth
or an unused bullet
to gift you back.
One thing we agree on
are the noodles,
and February won't be the same
without mother's moon cakes
fried golden with battered eggs.
You prefer chopsticks
than the spoons and forks,
and at night our room
is drowned by the smell
of jasmine rising
above a candle flame.
And yes, you consult our futures
through I-chings and fortune books
and check compatibilities
by the animal years of our conception
and what elements differ us
but wood nurtures fire.
The small percent of my lineage
is an interesting discussion
since you're disappointed how bereft
your ancestry is of the oriental
men who sailed in junks
and bartered history, traded culture -
but then again, you're often
more Chinese than
my Chinese friends are.