inhale the journey of a ghostly summer:
the flooding loneliness,
the coiling confusion,
the leashed hunger
pierce your eyes into the blue pupils of the
Genius that chained your freedom
and exhale as springtime:
to paint like the color wheel,
to be the missing puzzle piece,
to stand strong as a trunk,
to bloom as moonlight.
One day, I’ll be back
to cloud gaze at Dolores Park
to once again leave an impression deep into the wet soft grass
of my back after hours of being cradled by the smell
of bacon wrapped hot dogs and cigarette butts.
The soles of my feet will once again dance along the asphalt
that’s been cracked from the earthquakes but
replenished with chalk art.
I’ll squint through the thick fog
that sinks dead into the middle of the street
to be greeted by the evergreen trees in Golden Gate Park and
bold green signs of familiar street names.
I fly through the purple sunset clouds
to the heartwarming sound of my mother’s violin scales.
I am home now.
My Seaside Friends
the seaside breeze pierces
my back with a brisk slap.
swim through the crowd
and fish for the prettiest dress.
You’ll find him with her
I elbow through nets of
smiles and laughter.
the sincerity inside me
now drowned in crashing waves.
find the North Star
and dance with him all night.
You can catch the last train home
Moet Kurakata is a freshman at Boston University studying painting at the College of Fine Arts, and was born and raised in San Francisco, California.