looking at me, looking at you
we see in each other’s faces
every forgettable detail. it is
not so refreshing at all, my
mole above the lip, nor your
mundane lashes, when you
cannot decide on a wish. there
is nothing else, only the
awareness that you notice me
incompletely. that you look
me in the eyes, like you cannot
save me. still, you stay, enough
to mirror our shivering. no one
is here to see us, only one quiet
animal to quiet animal, heads
never leaving the place of
the other’s neck.
July 1, 2025
This website hosts a collection of works and personal diary entries by Mikaela R. In kind of a non-chronological order.
• But for the Lovers by Wilfrido Nolledo
• The Poetry and Poetics of Nishiwaki Junzaburo: Modernism in Translation by Hosea Hirata
• The Birth of Tragedy by Friedrich Nietzsche
While I wait
for the rain to stop,
insight escapes me
because my past started
to extend into a bigger
picture. Just recently,
for forever. Was it real,
the tremble, or was it alive,
the swallowtail?
I am waiting for it to stop,
neither resting nor dead,
just enough for it to be safe.
Why did joy only exist in
a memory?
A swan weeping
in its own private
moments. Every friend
bearing infinite shame.
A mother’s mother is
looking for her.
Yes,
real prayers do not fail,
but sometimes we are not
ready to return to ourselves.
But I forget the details, like
an angel’s name in a dream,
the dog chasing the frog,
and the sister’s soaked
shoes.
While I wait
for the rain to stop,
I somehow choose
impatience. I must bring to
you your blue baby’s breath
flowers. Which just means
I nearly forgot
you were glad to see me.
June 30, 2025