“Lime Shaved Ice in a Cone”
after Jeffrey Bean
Is like holding summer in my hands
Like white sand settling into my hair
Like being 24 again and swiꦫmming in the deep Pa𓄧cific
Like the waves tickling my toes
Like obliterating the unpleasant
Like starting afresh
Like loving
Like kind words
Like growing plants
Like yellow birds on palm trees
Like remembering the dead
Like missing the living
Like tearing up in the rain
Like being brave
Like holding hands
Like you are going to make it across
Like I am going be make it through too
Like everything is going to be okay
Like an inviolable promise
Like thank you
Like a big hug
Like the sun on my face
Like tangy strawberries bursting wild in my mouth
Like the memory of Grandma’s breakfast potatoes
Like reading a Nikki Giovani poem
Like swinging to a Harry Styles song
Like meeting Rembrandt in a dream
Like perennial youth
Like becoming all that I was ever meant to be
Like striving to be right
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“Hey you, Harry Styles”
One Direction was a one-of-a-kind band—
All of its members spunk🦄y with vibes distinctly their 🍸own.
Together they created a mood—tantalizin🌄g, charismatic, inspirational,
Their songs drawing c🐟rowds, redef🍰ining love, affirming hope.
When the band broke up,
I cried, of course, I cried.
It was, after all, a phenomenal band.
As the guys began pursuing solo careers,
I took to cheering them all on,
rooting most fondly for Niall Horan—the quint🧔essen🧸tial rock star.
But this poem is about another mem🌸ber of the band—the newly m🐬inted legend.
Hey you, Harry Stꦿyles— how you have risen to be a present-day wonder—thinker, poet,
🐟folksinger, master 🔯of surrealism, commentator on man, culture and world.
Y🐟ou are the real deal of the day—incisive, inclusive, versatile—you knit a universe together,
Your songs celebrating quirkiness,
Attesting vulnerabilities,
Hailing truth.
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“Inside a California classroom”
Inside a California classroom,
We g♐ather from the length of Califor🤡nia and from places far beyond—
New York and Fort Lauderdale,
Calgary and Melbourne,
Madrid and Damascus,
Tehran and Kabul,
Beijing and Kolkata,
Havana and San Salvador.
Myriad narratives crisscross the space,
Evoking memories and long journeys,
Truth and timelessness,
Ancient wisdom and new realities.
Always, always🐼, I notice how our eyes are different yet same—
Playful like the upside-down ri♚ver that cuts through old town,
Deep like the ocean down the road,
A shared humanity binding us together like glue.
We are all stories,
Our stories are us.
(Simrita Dhir is a California-based academic and novelist. She is the author of acclaimed novels The Rainbow Acres and The Song of Distant Bulbuls.)
