Jasmine

This is a poem I wrote several years ago that talks about my experience of being an MK (Missionary Kid) and growing up in Indonesia. It was one of about 7 or 8 poems I wrote about Indonesia during a poetry class that served as an elective for me during my Grad school. Perhaps I will share the others someday as well. I decided to share this one first because, while the others are about the place where I grew up, this one is, primarily, about me. Enjoy.

Jasmine

A jasmine tree guarded the front steps
at the house where I was a child.
Its branches reached toward my window,
bending down, looking in.
Every morning it whispered,
leaned toward me in the wind,
raining blossoms on my path.
I tried to memorize the tiny white curves,
kiss their sweet fragrance,
hoping it would stick to me.
It was the smell of being young,
of sun on my skin,
cool wind smoothing the island.

Now I cannot remember the smell of jasmine.
I never learned to live one and a half lives.
Breathing the thick air of Texas
I search for the scent of green,
angry at my white skin
hiding Asia like a secret inside me,
the breath of an island where
I never did belong.

Loki, Norse God of Mischief

This is Loki. Aptly named after the Norse god of mischief, Loki is a one year old Ragdoll Siamese mix that I adopted from a rescue shelter in Ennis, TX last March. Despite his obvious feline species markers, Loki actually thinks he's a St. Bernard. He drools profusely, chews up papers, and chases the cat. The other cat, that is. I have a 7 year old female, Cecily, who is a total sweetheart. My intention was to find another cat to be a companion for her, but Loki has turned her whole world upside down, poor thing. Come to think of it, he's turned my world upside down too. He climbs up my clothes to get to the tall shelf in the closet, which is cute but I haven't exactly enjoyed finding holes in the shoulders of my shirts.



Anyway, possibly the most infuriating thing about my little god of mischief is that as terrible as he is, he is equally as cute. He cuddles and purrs and loves on me, so it's impossible to stay mad at him. It would be nice if someday he would stop ripping papers out of the file cabinet through the hole where the handle used to be and shredding them all over the floor of the office. I could also live without him stubbornly insisting that things I have put on my dining table or kitchen counter ought to be thrown to the floor and played with until they are either destroyed or lost forever under the refrigerator. Still, I love my little boy. He makes me crazy and he requires frequent punishment, and he will probably have Cecily and me both losing our hair out of frustration... but somehow my crazy life wouldn't be the same without him.