In my mind I see him with a Nikon camera smiling my debonair father my 007 ahboji my GQ motorcycle riding papa.
The sun rises golden climbing while Mom is singing high opera and I’m in a crystal ball dreaming reading Jane Eyre when I was lonely eight.
Our fawn-colored boxer is fantastically zooming dog speed circles of joy laughing in my mind I still see her racing and dodging with wild ecstatic eyes and flapping tongue her flat patted head slobbering gratitude gulping into her silver rivered water bowl.
The summer is freshly cut green lawn charming dandelions burst like little lion heads blooming and we make rings of them for our fingers and blow wishes on their delicate colonies like feathered cosmic winged seeds floating away in slow-motion. Deciduous forests climbing majestically magnetically gliding towards the sun. Dappled deer ray sunsets crown the lawn the rose bush is sparkling renewed with dew with pearled petals unfurled and honeysuckle veins curled lemon pistols spiked with sweetness ringed vines in a swirl of dazzling white.
Butterflies glide in and meditate on violet microcosm mandala flowers of nectar like a fairy wedding bouquet miniature daisy chain crowns and sweet flower necklaces Buttercups radiate like glowing candy sirening the fuzzy worker bumble bees and iridescent gleaming hummingbirds delicately sip and drink from the red-orange bliss of flowers.
Fireflies blink pixie Morse code dots of luminescent brilliance like a silent orchestra. Warm blue-eyed skies and soft melting clouds balmy ocean tides kiss the frothy coves and Maryland true crabs steamed to sweet spicy perfection.
Turtles, frogs and crickets serenade cat tails swing and creeks stream silver minnows and dragonflies hover over lightning quick tiny salamanders Treasure sheets of glimmering fool’s gold mica “Look what I found mama!” shining in the red clay dirt. Queen Anne’s lace fans intricate micro world patterns of elegance. My burgundy red Maple tree friend steadfastly listens to my tears falling. My 1980s childhood in upper-middle-class Maryland white-collar affluence and country mansion living.
Father gave me my first cat, Bhopi— orange tabby’s are the smartest. He brought home all the interesting and strange: There was a retro video game machine There was an old ice cream truck There was a wooden trailer hitch There was a Korean traditional rope swing There were huge canisters of something? shaped like submarine torpedos. He brought home all these fascinating things.
Our lives were full of surprises extreme silly goodness wrapped in tragedy and shadow. Sudden joy merged with hard spastic weeping dangerous times of claustrophobic highs and lows shocking slaps and blows hide and seeking like in the most dangerous game gun seeking rages flashlights peeking through the bushes insane ritual of near murder. I’m good at retrieving lost and found precious items So I find mama first before he can beat her senseless or worse I close the closet door to keep her safe and I pretend to keep searching when I was only 10 or 11 or 12- That’s the saddest memory I have of Mama. Our cinematic violence Our real life horror show channel is mostly why I still hate horror movies. Violence doesn’t entertain me because I was raised with gladiators.
I witnessed unbearable constant life or death suspense intense soap opera drama insults and kicks. That daily trauma circus built my resilience and strength.
Terror woke me wide awake early on fear quickened my senses honed my observational qualities my skill of guessing and questioning authority and the mainstream’s babbling brainwashing commercials. I knew as a child that anything was possible Life could end in an instant I knew this always and it depressed my will to live.
I grew up in domestic violence but there were many silver linings I always knew I that I was loved. That conscious difference saved me from joining the exiled: the prostitutes, the prisoners, the destitute the dregs of society could’ve included me. Maybe in a past lifetime I was if such things exist I’ve probably been through it. I think we should never judge the homeless who knows what atrocities they survived? It’s not easy returning back alive they’re souls subsisting on refuse and trash as sleeping bag zombie campers of the apocalypse fentanyl choked walking dead.
I think I survived with my sanity intact because I was never given more than I could bear I was spared the worst nightmares and I coped through the elixir of words both reading and writing were my tickets of escaping mind traveling through books and writing poetry soothed me. Poetry is still my detox and my drunken tiger anger balm. Forgiveness is a paradox of calm. Transcendent Love from God the creator of all that is natural and beautiful and good is the antidote to all evil whether accidental, intended, pre-meditated or pretended Love is ultimate healer Love is endless remembrance Love the end of the sentence Here on Earth.