Little Ferns and Litote

By Hope Fa-Kaji

Little Ferns

There are little ferns of frozen condensation
In the bottom of the oval frame
Between us and the sky
 
And there is a smoky haze
Over the blackened tips of the mountains
That ring the city
 
In the distance, I had forgotten that The Outside is attacking
After years of being suppressed but not quenched
 
The ferns are melting as we hit our descent
The haze is getting stronger
 
How do you save a city
From the blur of vision
And a puff of smoke?
 
The ingredients in this haze
Are burnt bodies of plant and animal alike
And here I am
Sitting in its cloud
Forcing my chest up and down
And therefore alive
 
I can’t tell when the wheels first hit the ground
But the plane rocks back to earth
And the doors have to let in The Outside
Sometime
 
I’m scared to see
The city like this
After weeks of dreaming 
Of going home
 
(You may want long verses
With legato phrasing
Easier on the reader
And the eyes
But my thoughts are 
Only coming in
At this pace
They keep falling 
Short
Of a full line
Of clear skies)

Litote

She meant I need you with me
She said you don’t have to leave
 
She knew excuses were not enough
Day to day, work wasn’t even that tough
 
She meant I release you
She said you’re not the one
It wasn’t that she didn’t care
 
She meant to get to those dishes in the sink
And she’s not a slob, she swears
 
She meant to be better about sleeping
And listlessness
But at least it’s not Philly
She smiled
 
At least she’s not responsible for a plant
Or a pet
Or a child
 
If she keeps the blue light
In front of her all night
She gets no hours back from her nominal seven to five
 
But if she’s awake
In spite of her thoughts
Assuredly then
She proves she’s still [Not yet dead]

Hope Fa-Kaji is a mechanical engineer chasing down hillsides in Richardson, TX. She writes poetry as she thinks about inertia, space, and place. Her work has been shared in the 2020 National Poetry Month feature by the former Houston Poet Laureate.