Radiant Architecture                                            

          with an ending by Reetika Vazirani

A French church burned. Three dragons are flying, all brothers.

When a poet dies, readers scroll out favorites, the greatest hits.

Many lament their departed teacher. A mentor. All of the mourned poets these days

are white. We watch all of this happen on a small screen. I lament the poems

by people of color I have yet to find, that were never written down,

only known or felt. The ghost poems. I admit my favorite church

is near the one that burned in Paris – the Sainte Chapelle – with its walls

of stained glass lace. I want to wear a dress like that, to be drenched

in jeweled light. Who will mourn when I go, whether I am on fire or quiet,

so quiet, or laughing, laughing and spitting. Who will survive to rule

the iron throne? I want the two dragons to do an intervention for the ice dragon.

For the women to let the men freeze. I am my own queen. Imagine me.

Postcard                                                                               

Where my vowels can become a wave

—hello-oh-oh. I’ve forgotten how I came

to arrive in this town, but the radio

is playing my jam, so there’s someone in Maine

who has lived out my freestyle childhood

& perhaps I too once rode a unicorn

on the merry-go-round. When I wake up

my hair is a mess of waves—a head

full of sea. I bought a madras

summer dress since its colors echo

a plaid coat I had as a child. Sometimes

my poems spell out my name

along the seashore. Hello Atlantic

we meet again. Carry me, like the sun.

Lunar Eclipse                                                              

The silence of the moon

after a day with the sun. I am

in Florida, the state

with the prettiest name

& it is night & the driver

asks if I am from Japan

& I say no, I am from

California. & do I like

this music? It’s Drake

& somebody. I say

it’s OK. Your eyes

are like Japanese.

I am Chinese, but I’m from

California. & do I

have a boyfriend? Yes,

I lie. & is he here & I say

I’m traveling. & have you

had sex today? Or

love today? That’s

inappropriate. I would

have sex with you. If you are

looking for something.

Casual. I’m not

interested, thank you.

I like Chinese people.

I like you. He says

I am from Egypt

& I want to say

that is a very

old civilization,

like China. Some

Americans, they must

distrust you, think

you present a danger

to them. But I

don’t say these things,

& look out onto

the dark street – is there

a sidewalk. There is

a red light ahead.

I have tangerine juice,

bananas, pink

and white cookies

covered in frosting

and sprinkles. Food

for the week when I

will not have a car,

when I will be busy

with poetry. Should I

give them up. I am

wearing a short dress

and sandals, sturdy Spanish

leather sandals, I could

run in them. I gather

the keys between

my fingers. At what

point is screaming useful

or dangerous. When I scream

can I keep my eyes open

and remember his face

for it to be drawn later.

I look at his face & license plate

on my phone, losing

sense, in a fog

of cell phone gestures.

I look at the route

on the phone to check

that we are following

the highlighted path.

I look up if he is making

any sudden turns. Today

I strolled down a busy street

to walk into the Atlantic,

the sister ocean. I saw

maybe five people

who looked like me.

One of them eyed

my bare legs. I wore

colored stripes. I expected

more color in Florida.

It was colder, windy,

the temperature falling

to the low 60s by night.

I had a Hawaiian saraong

I used as a shawl. More

color. Purple and aqua.

Royal. Floral. I am

afraid in a tropical place

far away from the Pacific.

I grew up in love with

golden skin, mermaid

hair. Not the pale face

of a girl indoors, the smooth hair

resembling cut cloth.

Maybe the one perm

took hold. My tall hair

unorganized. I don’t want

him to look at my eyes.

I am sitting behind him

so he can see me

in the rearview

mirror. Do you

want a massage?

No, I am not

interested. He goes

through the gate

of the community

where I am staying.

Is this good or bad?

If he leaves, he can’t

come back, can he?

Did I pass it? Do I

leave now I think.

It’s back there, I say.

& he backs up. The house

has Christmas lights.

I gather my bags

in my hands & exit in

one motion. Do you

need help? No, thank

you, good night, I say,

& rush to the door

& shut the gate. I lock

the windows. I don’t peer

out the window

until late. There is

a super blood wolf moon

out tonight. It starts

at 11:20pm. It will be

on social media tomorrow,

says my host. We step outside

to see it, bright. I go

to sleep, touch the photos

in the morning. It was

the last lunar total eclipse

until 2021. Not that

far away.