spring giants
By Anna Li Sian

I would hand over Hanover
in a New York heartbeat.
The ba-boom boom beats faster
where sidewalk strangers brush
shoulders like ghost magnets
and rush past, they post questions
like como te llamas and
where's the fire on cotton shirts,
as the domino effect of
unintentional taps sends blasts of
electromagnetic zaps.

Here, I’m April's fool
cursing flower buds
for starting over
‘cuz we warmed each other as winter lovers
naked trees, like our naked knees
kissed each other as bitter winter winds
swept through their limbs

in your last days with me,
we kept low profiles like
color-changing reptiles
chameleons drinking chamomile
and belly crawling at bedtime,
taking turns turning into one another

and icicles that dangled off roof shingles
like dripping glass snow cones
and frozen noses that tingled
like post-punch knucklebones
justified our staying home alone

now,
the rain cries for me
and mud grabs my heels
like it never wants me to leave.
feet grieve over bootprints
like miniature graves,
depressions in dirt,
prevention of rebirth as
desperate blades of grass are slashed
as i pass.

my ankles bask in mud baths,
as spring springs up faster than
the pangs of a natural disaster,
and like a rocket ship blast that ripped past
you zoomed off and left me
with some lonely-ass whiplash.

Hanover winds leave heavy handprints
on black-penciled eyelids,
though fresher than the prince
northern winds sting more
than the world's strongest breath mints
i wince when they blow like oboes
like tiny Pacquiao blows to the nose

my lungs would be happier
if we were breathing the same air.

(i crave the unwavering nature
of warm southern vapors
infused with subtle spice flavors and
thin-crusted empanada whiffs to savor
as they hang and hover over your shoulders
like wounded soldiers)

i beat dirty gravel until it thins out
into fine concrete.
i grind earthworm carcasses
with rainboots until they resemble
subway gum stains.
i thread stars into a necklace
until it stretches out to form the
Williamsburg Bridge's night lights.

I am an ant in the great outdoors
who wishes to be the giant
on the fortieth floor—
she who reigns by windowsills,
crushes SUVs in their
asphalt rivers with one thumb and
laughs at rooftop sunbathers
for thinking the sun is theirs alone.

From below,
we would be two dancing shadows of giants
that bounce on the twos and fours
and float from window to window.

© Anna Li Sian