Between oceans

the diaspora of friends

thrown far apart

or landing haphazardly there

far off

There are two worlds

The native one and
the one of the colonizers

or

the one where you are good and stay awake
and stare at the back of the man's head in front of you,
because you cannot see the screen of the movie about
the natives and the colonizers and
the one when you are bad and let yourself fall asleep
listening to the words of another language
hoping to still glean all the important messages

or

the one where you read all the books
and understand how things are connected
and see big meaning in not just people in the sidewalks
but in your own small grievances and
the one where you sketch an imaginary apartment
layout again and solve more problems that don't exist yet

Hive

a time of traveling in packs
tight knit sweaters
ready to tense up a shoulder
against any naysayer
and draw in closer
the breath of inner circles
was not all without ripples
but a ship was set with certainty
tides of doubt not yet lapping
 at our helm

Winter stars

frozen garbage outside the school

thrown about by 

the wind presses a scrap paper

with the negative space of a heart

against the fence