They called it “the outback.” Brush and bushes among trees, which obscured the chain link fence separating our property from parking lot. Once an argument led to thrown sticks on both sides. Mostly they were fine. They’d play safari, and if the neighborhood cat wandered through it was a tiger. Then they’d pet it and run inside for juice boxes.

“Daddy, there’s something weird.”

The dove’s chest cavity was empty, the inedible wings splayed. “Looks like the cat got one,” I said.

They still petted the cat but looked at it differently, more like I looked at them.

night is the hungry time

when disappointments of

hours and years and days

gather to gnaw when

day’s small steadiness

dissipates and

moonshadow nothings mock

efforts elapsed when

dreams are gaps

in life we try to

fill with empty bread

until new light

Chloroplasts churn

until they don’t, and

the dessicate thing

can only clasp the bark

so long.

Wind separates the stem;

leaf falls to earth atop

a dozen more.

A hundred will follow

tomorrow

on every block

in every forest

and will again next year

from the same dimple on

that branch

where no one sees.

Kneel.

Lift it.

Nothing more

beautiful and vital

will ever touch your palm.

Visions of dust drove us into the rocket; grey, omnipresent dust. The missiles would fly, I did not know when. I knew only that we could no longer bear the dread, the knowledge that our homes and monuments and children’s schools could become rubble before the next morning’s bagel.

We exchanged Earth’s impending ash for the certainty of Martian sand. I hear it this moment, battering our domicile. It is the sound of madness; it is the sound of freedom.

The seaplane had been too much. She’d always feared water, having nearly drowned as a girl; now that the craft obstructed her shore view, she left weekends at the lake house to him. Life changed little after Rod and the unknown woman went down in the Skywagon. Still, she occasionally tasted something in her wine that might have been regret.

I find myself entranced by beautiful, old pines and sparkling fairies

The trees show me the way and the fairies follow me

The fairies whisper amongst themselves as to who they think I am

Though, I don't even know who I am

I found myself wandering through this wood and encountered these fairies just moments ago and they believe that I am the chosen one

The one the oracle spoke when he said that there would be a human girl to enter this wood and become the bride to the Forest King

These fairies told me stories about the Forest King

They said that if Iwas the one the oracle spoke of, then I was going to meet the King

Suddenly, I find myself coming to a clearing in the woods

Where all the woodland creatures gathered and surrounded this beautiful man

He approached me cautiously and gestured for me to take his hand

I did...

He gently led me to the center of the clearing and introduced himself as The Forest King

All of the creatures around us seemed to bow before us

The worshipped him, and worshipped me out of respect.

They didn't know me, but according to the oracle, I was the only one that could make

The Forest King happy and making him happy was the only way to keep the forest thriving

That would mean that all of these creatures would live a long time and give birth to their offspring and all of the fairies could have a safe haven for their families

All of these beautiful pine trees would still reach for the skies

If the Forest King weren't kept happy, this wonderful forest along with all that lives within it, could perish

I couldn't let the forest perish, nor could I let the King be unhappy

I will be at his side everyday and night ensuring his happiness and he will do the same for me

He and I will work together to help this forest thrive and live on for many generations so that our family can continue to rule over this forest

If only it weren't just a dream that I had one night

Like all things, the middle way is the best. remembering only the horrors and atrocities, would leave out a great deal of good. on the other hand, focusing only on the good, would whitewash the harsh reality, and may someday lead people into thinking this was some wonderful adventure.

like separating the wheat from the chaff, if you completely do away with the fiber, you get a very white, tasteless bread.

so what do i need to remember?

i remember my baby, having first experiences: seeing snow, eating a strawberry , and learning to stand.

i remember kindness that others have shown to me and to others. kindness without which, it would have been very difficult to survive.

I remember talking to the few foreigners that chose to stay in wuhan, and not get evacuated. how we cheered each other up.

I remember getting good news, i remember how ridculous i looked, walking to the Walmart, the FIRST day of the quarantine, dressed in a jacket(hoody on top) , swimming goggles, gloves, mask, nylon bags for my shoes, dragging all that through the street, with a stupid shopping cart along.

I remember a friend from Beijing getting on an online dating.service. only all the photos were with girls wearing the dust masks on. (‘she’s not wearing an N95. you can do better..’)

I remember doing online lessons for students. at some point.we started to joke about the connection flaking out, that we need to get some more internet oil or WiFi powder.

I also remember a lot of nastiness said and done. so much shameful, disgraceful behavior. but here is the thing: if a tragedy of historical proportions happened, we are left with a dilema, what to focus on? we must ask what would be the purpose of remembering? should it be just a series of survival lessons? or should the memory reflect more our understanding of human nature. I’ve been reading a few of my posts in the past few days,working on a project.. i noticed that i tended to oscilate between posts that were continuous rants, dark and depressing, to posts about keeping a general positive outlook. I havent done this self-digest kind of thing before. but i see that all through this period, i did not rant. i tried to show, to externalize, the positive outlook necessary. it’s like i have an alter-ego, which prevents me to slip back to just complaining. and dont get me wrong: I suffer and conplain all the time!

what i understand from this, and what i hope to show is that the history i choose to look at, is a collection of good despite the bad. i anticipate the bad. i try to prepare.l for it. i learned the sad historical context . but the real way out, over time, the way to overcome and find some hope, is to look at past memories, personal or collective , of rising above the depressing , worsening reality.

so these are the memories i will keep vividly. Some day, my baby will ask me how it was, this period. and i will tell her that. i will pass on to her the context. but i will tell her of the miracles, done by normal people. I hope she will never live through a time like this again. but the greatest survival tool that i can give her, is to keep some hope and share it with others.

So to all my friends here at TheProse, I wish you the same. look this harsh reality in the eye. don’t let it knock you down. find outlets to eliviate stress, and help bring yourself into a better place.

good luck, and BE STRONG!

I want to dance with you,

my hand on your hip,

hearing music and

your breath.

I would borrow your grace so

we'd glide for a song

and feel found.

My mind is a tidal wave of thoughts, roaring over the heavy roads until at last the engine dies. They trigger me like a gun without the bullet, observing my reaction, its damage insignificant to those around me. I am not wounded by sight, yet I feel crimson stains beneath my skin.

I am sad, I think. And yet I smile.

I am happy, I know. Yet saltwater slides over my cheeks.

Will the mind’s perplexities ever be understood as they intertwine and dig deeper into the pit of my subconscious? Thoughts hold blind control over me. I am merely the fallen apple in Newton’s theory, reacting to the forces around me. The cause of my actions reaches to my conscious, begs me to understand my own reactions.

Yet I falter in the maze of my mind. Forever I am a mystery to myself.