My Love for You is Like My Love for Dhall Bananas:

I could always count on you
for my trustworthy source of midday fulfillment
until last Friday.

I stood between the vats of minestrone and Kathmandu lentil
by an empty black metal bowl
an empty black metal heart,
the memory of my favorite phallic fruit all I had left.

I don’t know why I was so surprised,
for you have always been fleeting and I will always be waiting.

After going breakfast, lunch, and dinner
wondering whether my sweetheart would ever return,
I spotted my brimful banana bowl.
I wanted to sneak one under my shirt so I could take two more,
telling myself that I’d never let you get away again.

The extra bananas got squished and bruised at the bottom of my backpack.
The guilt makes me wonder if I’m worthy of unpeeling your beauty,
if I should stick to dreaming of the fruit that’s underneath.

In Defiance of Sisyphean Waters

I walk along the ocean
searching for treasures
smooth green stones, orange-red shells
and pick up a sliver of semi-transparent seaglass,
a hilarious artifact of the waves’ endless working days and years,
their triumph over the points and jagged edges of the
used-to-be bottle, bowl, or jar.

I hope that, at my end,
when the world has done its work,
I will not be soft.