🧸 Do Bipolar Bears Dream Of Love?

When I look up, there is fire in the sky.
It reminds me of when we rode those human-built wings every summer
to see 姨姨 and 姐姐 and 舅舅
and 姥姥 and 爷爷, who are no longer with us.

Perhaps they’re watching over us
from the angle of the stars
like Polaris, to guide us quietly
when the world never stops spinning.

I remember the way the colors of the sky changed on our 13-hour flight.
Sometimes streaks of orange and pink,
sometimes the boring shade of indigo,
and the plea of the flight attendant
to roll the window down while the rest of us were fast asleep.

If I was lucky, I could see the clouds from above.
I’ve always wanted a pair of wings of my own
so that I could see that sight whenever I wanted
instead of counting down the days until July

So that I could break that glass barrier between nature and I,
that manmade barrier our neighbors never cease to speak of.
But truthfully, I would be like Icarus
flying too close to places I shouldn’t venture

Mom, please tell me the truth.
Are we on a different planet?
I won’t get mad if the answer is yes—I promise.

Why has the sky changed?
When I look up, I am no longer
reminded of those summer days

The movement of the clouds is not benign
The longer I wait, the less the stars shine
Orion, Perseus, Ursa Major
It’s getting harder to find these childhood friends of mine

Have I always been drawn to
those artificial entities that have led to our destruction?
Is it selfish of me
To beg for a way for us to coexist?

I never liked December to begin with.
You would always get sad around the holidays
because it’s just you, me, and Dad here
gathering food by ourselves in those dark winter nights.

But now it’s you, me, and Dad
against the rest of the world
This world that was once so beautiful
Our world known as Earth