Rainy Day Parade

All week the sky hangs low
pressing its breaths onto the city pavement
and combing slick fingers
through ruffled hair
The sun plays hide and go seek
But hides and disappears
Wasting himself away
behind a canopy of fog
It has been raining since Monday
and the people are growing angsty from
the constant drip drumming
of rain pressing its palms onto window panes
I search for Hermes in my phone book
Surely he will know who to deliver my message to:
Dear atmosphere
I only have so many muted colors in my wardrobe
to reflect your August blues
And I whip up a batch of chocolate cookies
and place it on the windowsill
so the scent of sugar and vanilla may calm the brooding heavens.

JULIE CHEN

Crushed

Whenever you find that yourself unapologetic,

Step on a flower.

Feel the sap bleed into your soles

And listen to the earth silently weep

For its loss.

How easily we wreak havoc

On the ingenuous.

How easily we forget

The raw aching of wounds
which brings us to our knees

and leave us wary

Maybe the crushed petals will teach you

To be more careful.

Maybe the hole in the soil where beauty had once grown

Will tear a rift of remorse

Within you.

JULIE CHEN

Physics

She sits at the desk

Books sprawled around her, spines up

Like prized animal pelts on display

And she fumbles for hours through pages

Of inked formulas, rigid diagrams, and what is

The speed of light minus a heartbeat.

She doesn’t know.

But she knows that somewhere in the universe,

A star has devoured itself and left the cosmos

Tingling.

These implosions, rebirths, twinkle toes and
stardust are falling into Jupiter’s
non-existent craters and
While the planets careen in their orbits

tossed by the force of unfathomable hands
she sits in a darkened room
studying the laws of motion.

JULIE CHEN

Gramps

I went to see grandpa today.

He is flopped on the couch like a broken arm
Cracked, fading

Too ancient to speak.

We’ve never been close

But now he stares at me with eyes
like powdered feathers.

My aunt runs her finger through my curls.
She says I'm all grown up 
I wonder why she sounds surprised.

Gramp's utters a grunt of approval,
Voice like sandpaper on pearls.
It makes us laugh though.

His eyes linger, then.

And I become the best thing in the world.

The weight of silence roll down my shoulders.

But I don't do anything.
I sit and stare at my pale reflection in his brass tumbler.

And I suddenly wish I had cherished him, more

When he was still the ruddy old man

With a tan beret on his head
glaring into the distance and drinking strong tea. 

And it is the most heartbreaking thing I have ever known.

JULIE CHEN

Match

When the house is dark
I take out a hidden match and drag it down
the leg of my chair.
The flame licks my nails.
In a moment of silence
I stare at the eerie billow
and watch it cast whiskers of light
in futile effort.
I sit, crossed legged
and sway to to the dance of the sparks.

The moon intrudes on our secret date, then.
The flame flickers, indignant.
I take a breath and he is gone.