SUNLIGHT MODEL

“Sunlight Model” SUNLIGHT MODEL

In our last life, I was an artist, a talented and brilliant artist according to my peers, more talented than even the madman who molded himself into a phenomenon with the help of his beloved brother and a paintbrush, and so you spent your days posing for me, a creative, kind, and all-powerful king, hoping that I would one day see some of the things I love about myself within you, and although I always saw evidence of them, I, too, was a little young, and so I wasted my days focusing on the lack of perfection within my paintbrush when it came to capturing you onto my canvas; and yes, Bella, imperfection, imperfection was why I traded my paintbrush for a camera, which I spent the remainder of my life inventing after schizophrenia unexpectedly stole you away from me.

“Her Sorrows”

I'm the spark of her sorrows.
I knew she loved me, but

I could never be the person she
wanted. That could never happen.

She hadn't been through my struggles.
She couldn't see the deep scars I carry.

She could only see the trouble they caused.
Like a detective, she tried to solve

my puzzle. Like a mathematician, she
offered an elegant solution to my equation.

My equation was like pi; she couldn't see it,
but I could, and so I saw the end before we'd begun.

Now I feel guilty reminiscing about that cold night,
the night I took her soul and sparked her sorrows.

“Wonder Woman”

It feels like yesterday
you bathed me outside
in the backyard, on the top
surface of a giant rock.

And within my mind,
it is still yesterday,
and you haven't had
the second stroke
or become completely
paralyzed on your left side,
and you can still cook me
a well-seasoned Jollof rice
or trick me to come to your
room for a good spanking
instead of snacks.

It is still yesterday, Grandma,
and you are once again
in great health, with
a healthy mind and sound memory.

But in a few more seconds,
when this high wears off,
you will have already wrestled
with death for the fifth time,
and I will have already received
the call informing me that you
fought well, very well, but lost
the battle this time around.

“History”

I have met you before
in a past life—
I am sure of it.
I was much prouder
and fuller of hate
when my kin and I
stumbled across your village.

And you,
you were just as lovely
as you are in this life
and still too good for me.

You offered your life
in exchange for your
village. And I, being
an admirer of biological art
and an honorable tyrant,
offered to spare
you and your people
in exchange for your love.

You chose death
and promised to always
choose death until
I lay down my sword
and divorce all of my wives.

Beloved,
that was 999 lives ago!

I am now a poet,
yet still an admirer of you.

But...
my motherland is ill,
and my people—
my people are suffering.
And they once again
need an honorable king
more than a poet.

Nate Star-to Tulay is an aspiring Liberian-American poet. He was born in Liberia during a civil war with a tied tongue and some deafness in his right ear, and also experienced another civil war when he was five and lost his childhood innocence to it. Nate’s experiences and struggles have made him a philosopher sooner rather than later in life, and are still his motivations to strive for greatness, and to be a fair, kind, friendly, loving, understanding, compassionate, and somewhat honest person one day at a time.