a waffle analysis

 “Poetry is power. Making the choice to sit down and write or read a poem is power. It’s a choice. It’s self-care. It’s the start of a revolution. It’s change.” Poetry is power. Self-care. Change. This quote by January Gill O'Neil, my mentor poet, empowered me in this poetry unit—encouraging me to not give up on the search for deep analysis, universal extensions, and personal connections. Upon reading "In Praise of Okra," written by my mentor poet, I not only noticed the shifts in meaning and pace (which follow her growing passion) but also the cultural significance behind this poem. The nature of this narrative poem brings us along this emotional journey of how okra is perceived in the public, the history of okra, and what okra means to you. That last stanza, particularly the short sentence "Soul food.", culminates the poem with a prideful tone, one that encourages me to be proud of my culture as well. I simply admire how she was able to express such a powerful

Jumping time, and Living organisms begin to swarm, grow, & flourish No longer do I stare out at blizzards But rather my mother's shadow. The wooden planks hold the bed stable Each plant in its position, we tuck them with water, spreading a layer across the comfy dirt and watching the plants go to sleep. We sing our lullabies that glorify & enlighten each and every plant, encouraging growth. I watch these plants grow with love, with care, with innovation. Just as each parent has their hacks, so does each gardener. Because that's what gardening is— a mother-child relationship. Each day requires a lifestyle, time with insect frenemies, food fertilizer, and water blankets. Time together is a healthy one. A happy one. Inspired by a poem behind my Chobani Oatmilk carton!

red bean filled the mochi balls culminating the two-week new year cheer. we started with a wonderful meal also named tuan yuan fan. this meal —  a reunion meal — it's the one  where family gathers together, laughing about all the times we once requested a raincheck for but round this rice-filled table  remains just me and you we fight to break the barriers between borders  only to find ourselves chasing,  chasing for a wechat connection  a facetime call  a surprise visit a something— but all that is left is you and me; the leftovers  leading the night. it's not as bad as we think though after all, leftovers equal excess  to which excess exemplifies wealth (yes, a homophoned tradition) year of the ox, you'll be the one where the round table reunites again once more -  inspired by Boland's "It's A Woman's World" and a pandemic-ridden lunar new year in an immigrant household