midnight

My heart beats faster, whenever he dips me. His tougher, experienced hands, guide me through it. A bachata. And then a salsa. And I can't stop smiling, as he twirls me again and again, gazing on me softly.

The little hairs on his hard, bare chest. Midnight skin, under my tannish hand. The sight of it makes me want to pause and just, stare, but I don't. I don't want to stop. 

With a slight tug of his hand, I know to spin to him.

A gentle press on my back. I should press my chest against his. 

A smile against my hair means I stay there.

And we sway. As if we've known each other for much longer. And maybe that's true, in some other life, but in this life, it's our dance. And all dances end. 

Prince Royce plays on and I'm cheek to chest with a gentle bean. A soft bean. A tough bean.

And I feel like a princess, when he dips me. His arms, as thick as his neck, bulging under a tattoo that laces around and around, are dependable. I trust them, so I let myself dip so completely. And just as I suspected, he catches me steadily, as I "yelp". I swear I almost...

His cocky grin hovers close above my face. Nose to nose. A tease, and my breath hitches. 

"You didn't think I could handle you, huh?" he asks, smirking, after pulling me close again.

I mumble into his chest something about being a thick Vietnamese bean, about really putting my weight into that one, about how much of a little ass man he was--

He's had enough. 

"Let's see what I can do," and he makes me really yelp this time, picking me up and spinning with me in his arms, bridal style.

His beard tickles my chest and I laugh whole-heartedly.

This is what it means to be a princess.

The rest of the evening, I found him kissing my forehead and making me cry all over his chest, when he recounted the story of towns that flooded and drowned Black residents overnight. "Families gone. Just like that. People hated black excellence back then."

More injustice to cry about. Agh. 

Agh. The Christmas lights on my curtain cast a dewy glow on his face. His chest. His mind.

There, I am lost in all the stories of American history, written and re-written and re-packaged and at some point, we find some kind of truth in it together. And we twist away quickly when we realize that-- shit. 

Is it already midnight?

Is it already, truly? 

Midnight is when we make sure you make it home. Midnight is when I kiss you good-bye on my stairs, in my little Asian pajamas.

Midnight is when I have all of myself again. My body still remembering how incredible it was to dance bachata again with a good leader. God, you move your shoulders like you've partied all your life. You dance sooo good, you make me smile like a kid. And you're so smart, yet so arrogant. Agh. So cocky to a fault, knowing how good you look walking into any party, any social. And you're right. You do.

Despite your silliness to a fault, I'm glad I met you.

To dance the way that I love to dance felt like muscle memory. Like a poem that someone is writing for me, somewhere in his corporate or blue-collared job somewhere in America. As if he's speaking to me through all the boys I've loved before.

He's probably whispering out there, somewhere at midnight, "Little lady, I'm coming for you. You better hold yourself together. You better be ready when we meet. Game over."

For now, I hold my midnights in little places. I hold myself at midnights mostly. I try not to lose myself in all this social dancing. I just wonder, if you're out there, and you're going through your own things right now. Maybe you're out tonight, enjoying several High Noons with the boys, while I'm out here, calling my girlfriends and giving them free virtual tarot card readings. 

Maybe you're ready to throw me into the truck and drive us out to see the Milky Way galaxy. Finally.

Maybe you're ready to cry with me about all the history of social injustice in America and the world. Pressing a thumb to my cheek and catching one, before pulling me to your chest while I sob forever about something I just read.

Maybe you're going to send me letters and flowers, no matter where I am in the world, simply because you missed me and my voice. I hope you do. >-<

This poem isn't about young woman empowerment. This poem isn't about being Miss Independent, I'm sorryyyyyy T__T, because...

midnight is for feeling romantic and reminding someone out there that I'm soft bean. :)

Episode 101: farmer's market, cash only

I suspected as such, today. There are not going to be a lot of people with sophisticated merchant service machines. Not here, not at Marietta's weekly Saturday farmer's market. 

These are mainly farmers, creators, makers, selling out of their trucks. Why would they let some merchant service provider charge them 10% for their $3.00 beet plant? Or on their $5.00 handmade German silver bracelet, that I bought two of? Because dang, the story of his grandma wearing it into the bath all the time and not seeing a change to it, just about took me out. 

As you can tell, I love stories. Gosh, I adore stories. I'll take about anything. 

Austin and Kelly and I finally met outside of our Sunday trivias. I was a teeny late, running up to them with Korean coconut and pistachio popsicles. I was so sure they'd survive the light Marietta heat. It was only 73 after all. No way would they...

"melted, Ngoc. I think so, because it's kinda goopy, unless you're supposed to um, drink this ice cream?" Austin asked me, while she squeezed the popsicle bag. Kelly did too, and finally, I did. We laughed and were disappointed we couldn't eat it after all, but alas, "um, let's get Sips then. :)"

With coffee in hand, the three of us explored each stall excitedly. We started at 10 AM. 

And somehow, left each other hugging around 4:00 PM. 

I think when you meet good people, you know very early on if you could accompany them for 6 hours straight. And with these good beans, I did just that. All of 6 hours, it was pure wholesomeness. 

Dear new adult friendships, 

you feel sweet too. 

Thank gosh.

Kelly knew a little about just everything. She walked around the entire market as if her side bag didn't weigh at least 15 pounds. And maybe it's because of how distinctive she is, a tall dark pixie wearing a bright yellow shirt, "You're my favorite human", that I feel so drawn and curious all those months ago. She's so warm and darn sweet. And Austin has just about every reply ready in the book. She's so empathetic and fun, with her whimsical bags, whimsical shoe choices-- she is a fully developed bundle of positive energy. Pure. 

And here I am, just as wholesome bean (when I wanna be ;D). Pulling us into all the shops. Being the last to make decisions, "Seated inside, please!". Starting conversations with each vendor at the market, taking pictures with the vendors themselves. I was a bit chaotic, in a good way I think. :)

When you mix all three of us together, gosh we are so sweet to each other. So attentive. I'm usually an anxious person. No, wait, I'm always an anxious person. Calculating every damn thing. "Am I possibly making anyone unhappy or uncomfortable.?" But with the girls today, I felt so much easiness and the true comfort of being silly ol' me.

A characteristic about all my friendships is how kind we are to each other. Just, kindness. Openness. Vulnerability. Listening. Deep listening. And returning to that softness. The hug you do with those that have been vulnerable with you.

How can a relationship deepen if we weren't allowed to be vulnerable? 

I let my guard down all the time nowadays, because the best surprises are ones like today: realizing that it's only been 6 hours and I could see us spending a whole day together.

But everyone's boyfriends started calling them separately by the 4th hour, "Where are you? When are you coming back?" And I wasn't envious of that, only disappointed that we couldn't maybe spend the whole evening together too, but that would be hecking silly haha. Who would walk Murphy, Kelly's dog? And who would put something in the oven other than Austin? 

So after taking turns trying on tiaras in the antique store and glancing at ourselves in the mirror just to recognize how beautiful we were, discovering my new favorite candle shop after hogging the stall for 7 minutes with all my sniffing ;(, learning that Kelly and Austin know too much about mushrooms with the vendor, buying the best homemade lip balm ever in my life made of something called bees and wax, eating lunch for 2 hours in the best restaurant in town with a tiny ass charcuterie board between us, reading a little sign on a vendor's stall that all the wood he used to make the kitchenware came from the trees on his property, feeding a business owner's grey-eyed dog treats limitlessly, realizing that the same business owner was also a psychic tarot card spiritual healer (lol), not buying the beautiful vintage books and then returning to the shop just to get them after lunch, twirling around each other in every store we were in and excitedly picking something cute to show everyone else, and hugging each other sweetly before we separated to our cars.

So with that, Marietta is even more special in my heart.

I saw glimpses of Ivanna in that antique store, her high energy walking all over it, showing me the same dog and asking the business owner if I could give it a treat like she did. And that was 6 months ago. Fast-forward to today, among 2 new friends, we feed the same dog all over again, smiling amongst each other, the way I smiled at Ivanna then.

There are so many time loops aren't there? If you really look for them, they're all there. Happiness returns again and again. Joy never leaves us. It simply reincarnates endlessly if I allow myself to see it. 

This has been the most comforting fact of it all. 

Of getting older, haha. 

There is so much more to say, you know? Like how the people of Marietta are so earnest. They try to give you the best price they know, at a farmer's market. 

They give you stories of how that item came to be and all the advice on how to take care of what you bought. They are the PhDs of their fields.

It makes my heart smile so much, seeing all the creativity and hard efforts that people put into their businesses, on a street blocked off in front of CVS. They sit patiently, watch people pass by, and when the opportunity is there to share with someone like me, someone whom doesn't know any better, they do. And they do so, so brightly. So kindly.

My first time at this farmer's market was sooo different from today.

That means.... things have certainly changed. I've earned all this easiness, you know? I've earned the good company I was with, you know? I've earned--

and that's not the point. But it certainly took a lot to get me to this joy today.

I did a lot to be here. I did a lot to have this weekend plan be so sweet.

I did a lot yesterday, so I could smile as if I've nothing to worry about today, laugh as if I had air in my belly and my head, and do my little dance-y dance when the band started playing, because I can't stop myself when the music starts.

My white romper swirled around me while I moved and Austin and Kelly nodded along to the beat, and that was where I was, with the green chandeliers above us in that restaurant and the band right before us, when I felt myself breathe so softly and my little smile, so honest.

Wildfire Everywhere

Friends, family. Even family. :I

A poem I once wrote about a man I loved, in early 2023, back at Smith. Gosh, the surprise, right? How does a girl fall in love with a man while going to a traditionally all-women's college? Sigh.

I really am just running through my unpublished poems and publishing them. There are many that I simply don't like enough to edit properly and finish. But there are some that stand out, despite the test of time. Oh gosh, but dang, I was such a hopeless romantic. An intense-ass romantic. Jesus.

I had no chill pill to take back then. Just, every feeling I felt at 22, felt like fire. Anything new would make me vulnerable, and being the free bean that I was, I let my guard down. 

This poem reminds me what it feels like to just BE intense and be obsessed. It's a reminder of how my youth was such an up and such a down. How silly and intense I was and how I don't deviate too far from it today, 2 years later. Crazy right? No more craziness, going forward. 

Future Ngoc, if you're reading this poem again, no more craziness. No more letting feelings overwhelm. Just be a calm, easy, cheesy bean.

He is no longer mine, but

here is: Wildfire Everywhere

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He caught onto me like wildfire. I burned everywhere.

Even in the middle of a cool night, heat made my toes curl and lips swear

that I can't just be doe-eyed while his fire searched for my blood. 

I lived on a boat alone once, hoping he'd never find me.

But like air, he is everywhere. He knows exactly how to fill our conversations with bubbles. So many bubbles. Is he

another whale swirling around me? 

I could dream up every Taylor Swift song with "golden" in it to remind me of him.

We just met. We're both burning. Every waking hour is an hour I want to touch him.

And his laugh can lull any girl into his calm part of the ocean.

That deep, godly voice. A hunter. Poseidon. Trident beaming. 

My ears yearned to make him laugh again and again, because I swear that's when I drown, somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. And from his lips, would be a wit that matched mine. A witty remark and he'd make me say "god" with it. Sometimes I'd roll my eyes, sometimes I'd squint just to hear his voice better, maybe see him through the phone separating us.

On him are lips I once wanted. 

On him are eyes I once wished on. 

Features I painted on and painted on until I can't see. 

I can't see the mess in front of me.

The mess of the trees, peoples' homes, their gates and gardens, my only boat sinking,

because it's all wildfire. 

    I can't breathe. 

        Wildfire everywhere and he burns my heart enough

to burn me back into ash soil 

when he's no god

no god of mine.