Joy Ling

Cities To Go

These flower petals are just wisps of thoughts, scattered and lost in the sky. One blow and my dandelion mind will fly away. It’s a big city, but this world is small. I’m looking up from Toronto, and I ask you, Detroit, come back to me. I yearn for Tianjin, but it’s always Beijing that comes first. I wish I could lie on your bed and spread my fingers out, saying my mind. And you’d just smile at me, the sun in your smile, the moon in your eyes. I wish you were my sister. I wish we were closer. And I wish I could pretend like I don’t care, but I do. These memories are just puzzle pieces that fit together to make my life. What a small life I live.

I wish Paris was a white dress I could wear, and Cairo a golden bracelet on each wrist. I wish London could drip from of my eyes, and Dresden a scar on my fingers. I wish Auschwitz a tattoo on my arms, and Chicago a whisper from my lips. I wish New York a gleam in my eyes, and L.A. the blush on my cheeks. I wish Bath the nerves of my mind, and Rome the structure of my ribs. I wish Madrid the map of my Mother, and Bangkok the photos of my Father. I wish Barcelona the black of my hair, and Mumbai the hustle of my feet. I wish Sydney the orchestra of my heart, Hong Kong the light of a best friend. I wish Nanjing the chain on my ankles, and Venice a hand-made postcard.

What Am I

I am the empty between your fingers, the air between glass and water, the windows separating the outside and the inside. I am the wind that whispers lovingly to the curtains when you are asleep, the ache in your chest when a flame burns out, the soft touch of clouds to the eternal sky.

I am the tears that have been wrung from the heart, the blanket of sun on your shoulders. I am the black and white keys of music, the sharp pluck of a string, the glow of a missing light.