top of page


my people don’t shy away

from the sun, tough questions

or much of anything

my people eat revolution

for breakfast,

having endured centuries

of empty bowls

despotic leaders

foreign meddling

flower waisted women

with eyes like jewels

we bewitch

even as we feed you to the fire

my people are hustlers

drunk off monsoons

one with the ocean

my people are made of bamboo:

tightly woven yet

beautifully flexible

fueled by rice, ginger

and coconut, perfumed

by sweet frangipani

we are lotus and thorn in one

tea drinking warriors

who befriend elephants

eke out scripture on palm leaves

dwellers of a thousand temples

who have wandered every

corner of the earth

i am, as they are,

a tapestry of being


bottom of page