The Coal Miner's Daughter

BY JULIE CHEN

When I was at the age of pirates and sandcastles,

My Pa used to tell me

He was a coal miner.

Coal, he would say,

You find in the ground.

Buried deep.

But those little black chunks, they’re magical.

They burst into golden rays when the time is right.

Now I’m at the age of calculus and physics.

Turns out, 

my dad is not a coal miner.

But although he does not work with shovels,

Dirty fingertips,

And dark, sooty bundles that burst into flame,

I understand what he means when he says

You could be just a spark away

From being brilliant.

Hold Your Own

I am my own woman

Though love breaks my bones

And curdles the breath in my bosom

I hold my ground.

I am my own woman

Though my words lose their edge

And my walls crumble to kiss the earth

I keep my guard.

I am my own woman

Though you send me roses

And place your pulsing heart in my hands

My scalpel stands ready.

I am my own woman

When sleep renders you senseless

My hands slice you open

And return the bloody thing to its rightful place

Between your lungs.

I am my own woman

Two hearts
Would rupture my veins.

 JULIE CHEN