Pictured, the talented and gorgeous Tina Chang, Poet Laureate of NY.
Let us look to the bend of the road
Last night I found my face spilled
With the water of palms older and lines wilder
It seems they changed a little over night
The dawn is sometimes mischievous
Her light is a wounded pink as if,
Not truly ready for morning or new breath
For this world can be ugly, her children
Brash and unruly, fighters in their own right
Like a short woman of Asian descent who must
Fight for everything she has gotten
Taking gender studies classes has a majesty of bite
In her words, like a daughter who marries late
And berates others for mispronouncing her (Bengali) name
Identity is birthright, part destiny
And waking life is sometimes more burden then cheer
Some of us fake the drama and others seek it out
To feel alive drive home the muse
But the water doesn’t always turn to wine
And the frustrated authors don’t always turn out right
A silver blur across the skyline and you hit 30
The idea of revolution wasn’t holy
It was a necessary invitation to danger
To change the world, you have to risk everything
Loveless one, Sani, divine-child
We live on timetables that summon nothing
Tired of waiting and wanting, the clocks
They will run out, and we’ll be tired
It’s all nothing but a passage, lovely minutes only
When we start writing again.
Wuji Seshat 