Step by Step -Caroline Yi
Before I Was Born My mother says She had a hard time Catching my brother when he was running, running, running Like a little firework Bouncing of the boundaries Of Time, space, and patience Probing the edges Just to see how far he could push Before it went Snap! She says it made her thankful When I came out And was nothing like him Two opposite poles On the upside of the universe. She says weâ€™ve been revolving around each other And if one were to go The other would spiral off orbit, Spinning, Spinning, Spinning
ME Smothered Buried
Sometimes when I use Too many complicated words My voice is not heard From the thick, Covered, Layered, Buried, Smothered work That doesnâ€™t sound at all Like me
I believe That there is a certain Balance, Equilibrium Between using words That are Abstruse And those that are just Plain.
Now I am on a crusade About using the Thesaurus To make my writing Interesting, Intricate, Exciting, Captivating, Enthralling
Treasure of Words
I am sorry For forgetting to feed The dog And so I call her name And coax her to the table And give her A Very Small Crumb Of bread I hope that This tidbit Of nutrition
Will help To ease her Ravenous stomach But by hearing Her stomach growl, I can tell that That sheâ€™s still hungry So I give her One More Crumb
The First One
My apple drawing Looks like A train wreck â€“ Different lines Colliding with one another With a great Crash! My apple drawing Looks as if The lines are Biting into the page Harsh and Menacing, Not at all how An apple is Supposed to be. But I guess Even Monet Had a First draft.
Flip, Flip, Flip I am in the kitchen Looking through the photo albums With my family. Various Polaroids Cover the surface of the table Some black and white Others just a reminder. I spot my favorite picture – an old – timey snapshot Of my dad when he was younger. It shows him And all his friends Sitting around a campfire Stacking beer cans On the dog’s head. One, Two, Three, Four. I decide to frame it.
Grandfather “Go help your grandfather,” my mom says. So I do. I make the long trek down the hillside And spot him at the fruit trees. He’s bending down to reach The fallen fruit And placing them in handmade wicker baskets. I decide to choose the Harder task And pick one up, Lugging the basket up the steep hill That seemed so friendly Five minutes ago. When I come back down, There are more baskets waiting for me. So I make the trip Again And again And again.
When finally there are no more fruit left For him to pick Or for me to carry We each take a freshly washed one And sink our teeth Into its juicy flesh, Juice runs down the sides of our mouths. “Is it good?” he asks. I nod.
A Very Tough Choice Delicious smells Waft through the air; Little particles of gyro and rice Find their way Into my noise. And I Am faced with a very tough choice; What to eat for lunch. Gyro or chicken? Gyro or chicken? I finally decide on The gyro But only because Everybody else ordered it. I commend my decision When hot pita Meets my mouth And the poor sucker Who ordered chicken Stares despairingly At his order.
Kimbap I am a kimbapOne person made up of Different things All bound together by a Strong slice of dried seaweed. My flesh, my bones are contained Beneath my skin But
My ideas, my thoughts, swirl around And touch others, Like little dendrites Snaking their way around Other neurons. I am happy knowing that What I say Will influence other peopleâ€™s Kimbap