In mourning This poem is written in honor of Nick Bess, a young person living in Memphis, who was shot and killed on Tuesday evening. Nick was one of Code

Tea leaves Breathing in, I sip my jasmine tea Connecting me to the lands of ancient ancestors Tea plantations in china, earth fragrant with fallen blossoms Grand ancestor, did you

Celebrating this sunflower yellow skin passed down from my early kin name is Melanie Anne Gin given by my mother and assimilation ancestors dreaming of gum saam this gold mountain

I fear the day when the monopolies which govern my utilities – the massive electricity distributor, the internet service provider – decide to take me off the map How quickly the internet

My grandfather built the San Francisco Library With his bare hands, climbed ladders soaring into the sky To balance on steel beams, hooking and unhooking Metal from machine. He’d

A white man sent me an email the other day With the first words, Nihao. What is the first thing you see of me, white man? Is it my Sunflower

> I recited this poem at Sit Walk Listen's #StopAsianHate event in front of San Francisco's City Hall on March 21. May the six Asian women

I send off my grief like sand spilling through my fingers settling like silt at the bottom of a river salty with tears I'm sorry for not asking

Dear hungry ghost deep within my body Welcome to this new day of existence in this 30th year of life Please come, blinking into the sunshine, for this moment, Sit

Post-revision In this Japanese Chinese American skin color of roasted sunflowers after a long laze in the sun I breathe on behalf of those not here – My grandfather, whose very

I set down the burden of grief at my feet It becomes the cushion on which I rest Touching the earth with head bowed I am capable of carrying this

Dear one In the midst of this suffering I give you permission to feel joy Joy for no purpose other than Sinking into the crisp wind ruffling your Exposed hands,

Arriving at this little white house Through the forest, past the river I’ve come for four days of quiet retreat Knowing I’ll cook for myself I wanted to

Pregnant with poetry I stand on this fertile ground waiting, breathing down into my abdomen my breath nourishing that which is growing within me The budding rose grows solid in

changing like all things To my dearest friends, Each of whom I have invited to Delight in the towering trees Of a mariposa spring Our time together is canceled for

What does the practice look like if critical thinking is built into the beginning of every dharma talk before the refuges, before the four noble truths What if nothing is

What does the practice look like if critical thinking is built into the beginning of every dharma talk? Is inserted before the four noble truths as the first and most

Accessing the power in my body swinging the axe, letting the weight of the blade sing in my hands, I am but the metal's vessel The axe slices

thoughts on wednesday's resiliency training thank you very much for your question, johanna for including your own mind and body experience in the possibility of human experience I

the poet is to write without fear to release her words into the wild knowing they are not just hers I do not wish to hoard my truth I want

Fuck the moon Fuck pointing at the moon I’m tired of looking at things outside myself pretending That they are a way out No, the way out is to

hey, I am happy to connect but I don't know if there is a bone in my body that can commit to anything outside of showing up I

I am a poet The horoscopes already read this fortune but I protested in my unconscious No, give me something more prestigious, more colorful more of service No, god roared

I have a client, so broken by her own hatred that she emerges glowing in the summer light mind on fire lit by rage Everything she loves is broken. Ambition,