The Tao of Us (from The Separation Series)

When my mother called us yin and yang
I always thought I was the yin.

You, of course, are the smooth, damp
blackness. Sweet, ripened plantain skin.

I am shades of peach and kumquat.
Trying like hell to keep the sun's yellow.

(It makes the edges of somber poems glow.
It makes people think I'm shiny.)But really,

You are the glaring one. An imposition on
absence. The exhale that makes the night give in.

A clanging chorus when everyone was sleeping.
I quit singing when I met you. Hummed resentment

like a soldiers cadence under drill sergeant's
hot breath. You didn't make me quit singing

anymore than I made you quit writing, but we
all hold excuses like injury. "We are fallen"

you always said. We must restore the natural
order. You the Subject, Me the Object. This is

not meant to be a hierarchy. Just a balance. The
way God intended things to be. You believe in

funny things. Here's where I get real Yin.
I smile like a cervix and say,
Interesting point of view.
but I'm not a fan of duality.

I leave that space for you though. Because
no one can be 100% wrong. See, me and the

moon see you when you sleep. When you don't
believe in separation. When sin is just a recycle bin

that needs to be emptied. When we are curled up.
Spirits threaded, head to hip, breast to back bone.

Give and Take. Black and White. Man and Woman
When we don't know whose who. I believe in us then.


© lauren zuniga