Let’s pretend that fulfillment
is just another dress
that I can compliment.
Easy discretion that allows
...
For awhile I too was haunted by
memories of your frightened faces
as we hovered nearby, shooting
warning tracers above your heads.
...
In the photo my mother is twenty years old.
She is leaning against the railing
of a shoddily built prison barrack
wondering if the climate
...
Mark S. Osaki was born in Sacramento, California. He attended the University of California, Berkeley as an Alumni Scholar and went on to do graduate work in International Relations and Security Studies. His work has appeared in various journals and anthologies, including: The Georgia Review, South Carolina Review, Onset Review and Báo Gi? y—Vietnamese Poetry. Mark has received awards for his poetry from the Academy of American Poets, University of California at Berkeley, San Francisco Arts Commission, Seattle Arts Council and the National Endowment for the Arts.)
Such A Lovely Dress
Let’s pretend that fulfillment
is just another dress
that I can compliment.
Easy discretion that allows
no shielding of eyes
or the delicate harm
of a lingering afterthought.
We are lucky to have such distractions
to keep us faithful to necessity.
Chances narrow with experience,
and what is hope but proof of pain
after all. Better to be understood
than loved, you said.
Better a dance of manners
that claims nothing
and wastes each momentary promise
with playful approval,
as though you’ve saved your whole life
for some new dress.
And you, likewise
not young or unbroken enough
for innocence,
can smile back in purposeless agreement
that as we understand
we too love.