my tombstone will read,
"died of embarrassment, 
clumsiness,
unrequited love,
writers' block,
mosquito bites,
​fear of heights,
poetic injustice,
flashbacks,
forgotten passwords,
laughter,
& other natural causes"

stalked old people today,
toeing the damp, well-packed soil
just as the 6am sun nosed the horizon
​less predator
more iPhone photog
wannabe tai ji chuan master

as i creep along as inconspicuously as
my turquoise pants & fewer than 40 years of age
​allow,
hoping that the migrant senior citizens would lead me 
to the rest of their qi-tonifying flock
i think how this is not what people meant when
they called me an old soul

the path splits and so does the pack
of elderly i panic this was not part of the plan i had planned before coming here 
only in China is the local park also the Temple-of-fucking-Heaven
—but not Fucking Heaven, that's crass
i glance around, hoping the seniors hadn't read my thoughts
apologizing mentally in case they had

a wrinkled lady says tai ji is anywhere you look &
then spits 
i think i either heard wrong or need new eyes

i'm in the middle of getting myself lost
on my way out when
i find them
the elusive morning tai ji elders
raising their arms in unison, as if in welcome
i join them, quiet
but am soon chased away
it's okay
i came for what the day gave me
and left smiling from the inside out

and then the policeman said,
"你不是中國人?"
more statement than question
realization breaking like harsh dawn across his face
no wonder she nods 
but her eyes still panic
i stood there, rubber doll
dying phone in hand
scrambled brain barely contained by skull
signal nowhere to be found
in the pause before he asked me 
where i was from
i realized that the fear of getting found out 
never goes away no matter where 
you run away to
or what part of yourself you're
hiding
here, my accent is good enough to fool for awhile
but fails to fill the gaps in the Advanced Placement Chinese curriculum
so i fall between the cracks 
of my limits, 
pushed by my own lies
and how much i want to believe them

what makes a wall great
is its sense of humor,
playfully bending the wall's spine like 
a ribbon across the crests of the
mountainside;

is its bedroom eyes,
coaxing color and sweat to
the surface of the humans that 
dare to climb with its heat;

is its solid upbringing,
history of toil and struggle
gluing each stone tightly to
its neighbor, promising to never let go;

is its honesty to a fault,
crumbling the sun-baked stone
into dust, in memory of the people
who died for its immortality;

is its talent for matchmaking,
plucking eligible travelers, students,
retirees
heartbreakers, heartbrokers, & their victims,
addicts, bookworms, and academics who burn easily
from every nook and wrinkle of the world
and sending them blindly to discover love in one another.

today, i stood at the top of a great wall
in an oddly-assembled, international, sweaty bunch
among strangers
now dear to me

they say New Yorkers are rude
i say
we all have places to go and
you're probably just in the way. yet,
​i'm a tourist in a country where 
people actually look like me
they scold me in Chinese
when i take the wrong bullet train
seat and i have an American retort ready
but can't properly wrap my tongue
around the meaning
so i give up and tug my baggage away
unable to fight in one language,
unable to communicate in another
roll your eyes at me
jostle my bag none too gently
​when i stray too near 
here, i'm just another inconvenience
who just doesn't get it
wedging my body between 
closing subway doors

thank you
​for lighting fires 
in all the corners of my room
the shadows are always taller than me
but you make me feel more solid than they
could ever be
thank you
for sitting at the edge 
of my bed. maybe the fires will
burn the house down as i sleep, but 
with you to beat them back with your 
breathless laugh, smiling eyes,
and crooked teeth
how could i dream of anything else
than waking up to you . 
among my friends?

ate bees for dinner;
broke out in hives. this is why
​i don't try new things.

i suffer from terminal clumsiness
with a touch of delusion and 
occasional sore throat
dr. says it's because of a leak in my brain
and i'm inclined to believe 
whatever she says at this point
i'm busting at the seams with apologies
so maybe my creator stuffed me wrong
since my insides are showing
and leaving a mess wherever i go

give me a cup
& i'll make a puddle

give me a second
& i'll forget 

give me a ticket
& i'll fly out the next day
without a goodbye

give me a phone call
& i'll miss it
while writing a poem about missing home

give me a kiss
& i'll lean away without meaning to 
it's not your breath, promise

give me a chance
& i'll lose it through a hole in my back pocket
the same place i keep my excuses
and confidence

give me a pen 
& i'll gouge my eyes out
trying to write something pretty,
something worth redeeming about my soul