pienso que estas
hundido en
ella...
te escondes
adentro sus ojos
la sonrisa
sus dientes brillantes
y la risa--
las risas gigantes y maravillosas--
saltas adentro de tu boca
hasta la garganta
hasta no puedes
ver
tu eres la capitan,
pero ella es la
barca de vela
puedes aguantar
las cuerdas? la rueda?
como navigas sin ver?
estas--puede ser--
hundido
en ella.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
What I Learned in College
My winter breath mouths Morse code--
Orion's belt always a beacon--
a solitary walk back to the car.
I am the protagonist of my story.
The North Star--
pinnacle of the Big Dipper--
my northern star from Lake Minnetonka.
When I was little, I thought it was our star,
meant for Minnesota.
I've always loved the sound of
high heels on the linoleum.
Sunday mornings in the kitchen--
coffee with the funnies, and Mom
is dressed up for church.
A grown woman can wear high heels.
My teacher used to tell me,
(out in the hall, one hand on my shoulder)
"Don't roll your eyes at me--
You have an attitude problem, young lady."
Young women are prone to "attitude problems."
Add ten years--what would my teacher say?
This is what I have learned in college.
An authoritative strut--how to walk in high heels.
How to question--
how to tilt my head upward on a clear night.
How to wear an olive beret--style.
"Too talkative in class."
How to be alone.
May 2005
Orion's belt always a beacon--
a solitary walk back to the car.
I am the protagonist of my story.
The North Star--
pinnacle of the Big Dipper--
my northern star from Lake Minnetonka.
When I was little, I thought it was our star,
meant for Minnesota.
I've always loved the sound of
high heels on the linoleum.
Sunday mornings in the kitchen--
coffee with the funnies, and Mom
is dressed up for church.
A grown woman can wear high heels.
My teacher used to tell me,
(out in the hall, one hand on my shoulder)
"Don't roll your eyes at me--
You have an attitude problem, young lady."
Young women are prone to "attitude problems."
Add ten years--what would my teacher say?
This is what I have learned in college.
An authoritative strut--how to walk in high heels.
How to question--
how to tilt my head upward on a clear night.
How to wear an olive beret--style.
"Too talkative in class."
How to be alone.
May 2005
two-liners
generic as a stamp
go mail yourself
I'll leave you my Nag Champa.
By the time I get back, it should smell alright.
slide, pop--slopping sweet
sinks the seven ball, side pocket
you can bite--but only when it's
dark out
He shakes his ten-dollar bill in a leathered hand
studded with carats, impatient for the check.
They brought me my cat--dead and
frozen--and I thought they would kill me.
The church is like the bank--
It's not actually real.
May 2005
go mail yourself
I'll leave you my Nag Champa.
By the time I get back, it should smell alright.
slide, pop--slopping sweet
sinks the seven ball, side pocket
you can bite--but only when it's
dark out
He shakes his ten-dollar bill in a leathered hand
studded with carats, impatient for the check.
They brought me my cat--dead and
frozen--and I thought they would kill me.
The church is like the bank--
It's not actually real.
May 2005
Sour Salt
"Hello, just the two of you?"
I slide the menus on the table and nearly spill the water.
"Yes--I'd like a margarita, please, on the rocks."
Someone looks like she needs a drink.
"Alright, and you, sir?"
Darts fly. "Just give me a minute."
The blender whirrs, muffling their crossfire.
The limes are past their prime, but they won't notice.
"Here you go, ma'am. Have you decided, sir?"
"I'll just have a margarita. I don't think
we're going to order anything else."
"No," she says, "we'll just have drinks."
"Another round?"
His brow furrows.
"No, we'll take the check."
She shoves the ten dollar bill at me.
He fretfully pats for his wallet. "Come on--"
"No, don't--"
He huffs with exaggeration.
I take the money from
her shaking hand.
I bus their table, and see them
arguing in front of the window.
The woman locks her eyes with me for a moment--
I was staring. She starts the car. I get back to work.
May 2005
I slide the menus on the table and nearly spill the water.
"Yes--I'd like a margarita, please, on the rocks."
Someone looks like she needs a drink.
"Alright, and you, sir?"
Darts fly. "Just give me a minute."
The blender whirrs, muffling their crossfire.
The limes are past their prime, but they won't notice.
"Here you go, ma'am. Have you decided, sir?"
"I'll just have a margarita. I don't think
we're going to order anything else."
"No," she says, "we'll just have drinks."
"Another round?"
His brow furrows.
"No, we'll take the check."
She shoves the ten dollar bill at me.
He fretfully pats for his wallet. "Come on--"
"No, don't--"
He huffs with exaggeration.
I take the money from
her shaking hand.
I bus their table, and see them
arguing in front of the window.
The woman locks her eyes with me for a moment--
I was staring. She starts the car. I get back to work.
May 2005
red wine
I.
They served white wine
with the tuna loaf.
I told them,
"I prefer red wine."
II.
I fell in love when I was
hung over from
shitty red wine--
the kind in the box.
III.
She likes to sit
erectilely, she says. You know,
straight back and all. Good posture
shows class, and red wine.
May 2005
They served white wine
with the tuna loaf.
I told them,
"I prefer red wine."
II.
I fell in love when I was
hung over from
shitty red wine--
the kind in the box.
III.
She likes to sit
erectilely, she says. You know,
straight back and all. Good posture
shows class, and red wine.
May 2005
Viking State Bank
bad bank news
a dark cloud settles
over my furrowed brow
thinkmoneyworry
if thirty is the new twenty
no wonder i feel old
responsibility
haunts my closet
absent skeleton
in the hole like
my bank account
and these bastards
at Viking State.
badcreditstinkingstomach
"We are here to help," says the brochure.
"Maybe you own your own car?" Right.
"Privileged Status," says the brochure.
Do young hands hold
dirty dollars?
Does age warrant respect
like an automatic teller spits cash?
"I'm sorry, you just don't have
any real collateral."
I scorn your
professional attitude,
your smug perma-smile.
"Must be nice to have
bankers' hours, huh?"
May 2005
a dark cloud settles
over my furrowed brow
thinkmoneyworry
if thirty is the new twenty
no wonder i feel old
responsibility
haunts my closet
absent skeleton
in the hole like
my bank account
and these bastards
at Viking State.
badcreditstinkingstomach
"We are here to help," says the brochure.
"Maybe you own your own car?" Right.
"Privileged Status," says the brochure.
Do young hands hold
dirty dollars?
Does age warrant respect
like an automatic teller spits cash?
"I'm sorry, you just don't have
any real collateral."
I scorn your
professional attitude,
your smug perma-smile.
"Must be nice to have
bankers' hours, huh?"
May 2005
KWLC: audio interface
(r)EJECT: I label myself.
(another Friday night underground)
Down in the station, alone, I am in control.
I am a rosy child clawing through the
moist soil in search of her very own roots.
Alone and dirty under (the) ground,
I glance at the clock, an old LP,
while recording the readouts--
liquid crystal display.
transmittor: ON
communication? life signs?
positive, though weak in number.
The pen taps itself nervously
on the clipboard.
Who will interface w/ me?
do MY interfacing--
my power level dwindles
(two years of my life spent here)
sputters, and the signal fades.
Pin back those lucid bangs,
BARE my eyes:
self-discovery through vinyl.
Volume surges in the headphones--
1240 AM (gold):
gilded cherubs of sound.
May 2005
(another Friday night underground)
Down in the station, alone, I am in control.
I am a rosy child clawing through the
moist soil in search of her very own roots.
Alone and dirty under (the) ground,
I glance at the clock, an old LP,
while recording the readouts--
liquid crystal display.
transmittor: ON
communication? life signs?
positive, though weak in number.
The pen taps itself nervously
on the clipboard.
Who will interface w/ me?
do MY interfacing--
my power level dwindles
(two years of my life spent here)
sputters, and the signal fades.
Pin back those lucid bangs,
BARE my eyes:
self-discovery through vinyl.
Volume surges in the headphones--
1240 AM (gold):
gilded cherubs of sound.
May 2005
Highway 52
"It ain't cheep being cool"
blasts the red iron bull--
painted with small yellow chicks--
rumbling along my right;
we head south toward Iowa.
Does anything ever happen in Iowa?
I pass him on the left and wink.
His two-horned
smoke blows through
his two ears
like in the cartoons;
he hauls logs stacked
and bound together.
Salty hills roll by,
peppered with pitch cattle--
turn their heads,
chew their cud,
slow motion maple syrup.
Something happens
between the iron bull
and flat, Midwestern gusts--
my car quakes,
knuckles snowy
on the ice gray wheel.
The white sky
bleaks at me--
left to Goodwin,
right to Desdin.
I dance an empty foxtrot--
back, forth,
back, forth.
Stretch me across state lines--
the scene gets flat,
then flatter.
Blue command--
"Concentrate on Driving"
I'm in the space between
home and home--
May 2005
blasts the red iron bull--
painted with small yellow chicks--
rumbling along my right;
we head south toward Iowa.
Does anything ever happen in Iowa?
I pass him on the left and wink.
His two-horned
smoke blows through
his two ears
like in the cartoons;
he hauls logs stacked
and bound together.
Salty hills roll by,
peppered with pitch cattle--
turn their heads,
chew their cud,
slow motion maple syrup.
Something happens
between the iron bull
and flat, Midwestern gusts--
my car quakes,
knuckles snowy
on the ice gray wheel.
The white sky
bleaks at me--
left to Goodwin,
right to Desdin.
I dance an empty foxtrot--
back, forth,
back, forth.
Stretch me across state lines--
the scene gets flat,
then flatter.
Blue command--
"Concentrate on Driving"
I'm in the space between
home and home--
May 2005
lavender rain
lavender oil triumphs my stench
muggy springtime
rain flies diagonally
across the yellow beams of streetlamp
light crosshatches into a spectrum
like a sound wave glistening in
liquid crystal display:
schizophrenic signals
down to the shining street
raindrops weave back and forth
back and forth
groove needle
on a record
when it hits the sign
no parking
the rain,
it pings
May 2005
muggy springtime
rain flies diagonally
across the yellow beams of streetlamp
light crosshatches into a spectrum
like a sound wave glistening in
liquid crystal display:
schizophrenic signals
down to the shining street
raindrops weave back and forth
back and forth
groove needle
on a record
when it hits the sign
no parking
the rain,
it pings
May 2005
windblown
goosebumps pull my forearms
white frozen fingers
nipples hard ice diamonds
when the wind cuts through my blouse
and whips strands of hair into my mouth
I remember that I am still here
May 2005
white frozen fingers
nipples hard ice diamonds
when the wind cuts through my blouse
and whips strands of hair into my mouth
I remember that I am still here
May 2005
take note
a small cactus sits dead in his Navajo pot
blue with mold, just on the sill.
his base is brown yet he shoots his spikes
not letting on that he is terminal.
he shivers, dwindles and shrinks--neglected.
still he shields himself, vehement as ever,
a defensive cloak to all who approach.
look, my heart, at the act--
wrap yourself up tight in that thick prickly skin
alone in that stout stucco--a fool's masquerade.
I'll light a votive, and hope, but
I won't hold my breath, I won't even pray.
Take note, my heart
at his dangerous veneer--
proud but no good,
a dry guise.
May 2005
blue with mold, just on the sill.
his base is brown yet he shoots his spikes
not letting on that he is terminal.
he shivers, dwindles and shrinks--neglected.
still he shields himself, vehement as ever,
a defensive cloak to all who approach.
look, my heart, at the act--
wrap yourself up tight in that thick prickly skin
alone in that stout stucco--a fool's masquerade.
I'll light a votive, and hope, but
I won't hold my breath, I won't even pray.
Take note, my heart
at his dangerous veneer--
proud but no good,
a dry guise.
May 2005
Playa de la Venus
Subtly crashing waves
race eastward,
pushing up against the sand.
Perfect half moon smiles down,
urging a grin to my own face.
I could sit here for hours, certainly,
if only to make up for lost time,
enveloped in stone--
cold and impersonal.
The water seems to know me,
communicates, unspoken.
Something more meaningful must exist
than the buildings made by men.
January 2005
race eastward,
pushing up against the sand.
Perfect half moon smiles down,
urging a grin to my own face.
I could sit here for hours, certainly,
if only to make up for lost time,
enveloped in stone--
cold and impersonal.
The water seems to know me,
communicates, unspoken.
Something more meaningful must exist
than the buildings made by men.
January 2005
Porto Vell
All the ships sleeping--
what peace.
The pillow of
blue, celestial for the moon.
Lights of the port reflect
in water like eyes, looking.
I realized today that
I cannot live away from the water
ever again!
From the train
I saw the coast,
bluer than ever
in the sun, happy.
My heart rose--
I laughed, with myself!
Porto Vell--
tiny and full of lights,
ships with eyes looking to the water.
Water is the protagonist--
the hero.
January 2005
what peace.
The pillow of
blue, celestial for the moon.
Lights of the port reflect
in water like eyes, looking.
I realized today that
I cannot live away from the water
ever again!
From the train
I saw the coast,
bluer than ever
in the sun, happy.
My heart rose--
I laughed, with myself!
Porto Vell--
tiny and full of lights,
ships with eyes looking to the water.
Water is the protagonist--
the hero.
January 2005
Howard Roark
I do these things for myself,
and no one else.
The smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
Words are my boulders of granite,
my journal a stone quarry.
The stork perches on its nest
atop the Catolica belltower.
The sun warms my fingers
around the plastic coffee.
The bells sound the hour
as I leave my own perch.
January 2005
and no one else.
The smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
Words are my boulders of granite,
my journal a stone quarry.
The stork perches on its nest
atop the Catolica belltower.
The sun warms my fingers
around the plastic coffee.
The bells sound the hour
as I leave my own perch.
January 2005
Stability
Clouds look stable against the blue
behind the moving billboard,
roadside attraction of leafless branches.
I sit next to my brother in the backseat,
day after Christmas.
What sort of stability am I seeking,
such a jet setter
jetting as the sun is setting
along the horizontal sky?
Passing Cataract Elementary
on the right,
this black hole in my chest
devours itself
hungry and hot
from Prednizone.
Faces swim,
obsessed.
Distance is this cleaving in my chest,
this watering in my jaw,
this dry air at the back of my throat--
and this absence of a photograph
in my hand.
January 2005
behind the moving billboard,
roadside attraction of leafless branches.
I sit next to my brother in the backseat,
day after Christmas.
What sort of stability am I seeking,
such a jet setter
jetting as the sun is setting
along the horizontal sky?
Passing Cataract Elementary
on the right,
this black hole in my chest
devours itself
hungry and hot
from Prednizone.
Faces swim,
obsessed.
Distance is this cleaving in my chest,
this watering in my jaw,
this dry air at the back of my throat--
and this absence of a photograph
in my hand.
January 2005
cummings
smooth arms. smooth hands.
shoulders knees touch kiss bump
shift shape to opposite
sideso
fthe couch.
mop: bla
ckhair in clumps around eyes
eyebrows bushy brown bearings
i'my
ours.
arms on rib
cage
grip tight fingers: wr
ap wround
softstomachbelly. letus
sleepsleepsleep
eyesshut. heavy sunko
n pillowsleep--together.
January 2005
shoulders knees touch kiss bump
shift shape to opposite
sideso
fthe couch.
mop: bla
ckhair in clumps around eyes
eyebrows bushy brown bearings
i'my
ours.
arms on rib
cage
grip tight fingers: wr
ap wround
softstomachbelly. letus
sleepsleepsleep
eyesshut. heavy sunko
n pillowsleep--together.
January 2005
Plath
Apprehensions in the morning
Cold bites, slip set collar
And duck my head down.
When do I sleep?
Circles dark
Eyes sag
Plum purple
Remember the mystic? Memory
Does the cobblestone know
My footsteps? My boot heels?
A gigolo
Gives me aphrodisiac eggs
He smiles sex
I lose my courage and
Shut up
Who will hold my tongue?
January 2005
Cold bites, slip set collar
And duck my head down.
When do I sleep?
Circles dark
Eyes sag
Plum purple
Remember the mystic? Memory
Does the cobblestone know
My footsteps? My boot heels?
A gigolo
Gives me aphrodisiac eggs
He smiles sex
I lose my courage and
Shut up
Who will hold my tongue?
January 2005
Revolutionary
Ruminating upon the past,
all domestic pleasures are absorbed in,
as it were, a secondary god,
to preserve one of the
fingers of a mortified hand.
I silence every murmur
and the friend of my heart.
I have not felt in a humor,
I had taken up my pen.
The eyes of our rulers have been closed.
Whilst the building is in flames,
very little has been done
to secure the harbor.
January 2005
found poem
Letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams, 1776.
all domestic pleasures are absorbed in,
as it were, a secondary god,
to preserve one of the
fingers of a mortified hand.
I silence every murmur
and the friend of my heart.
I have not felt in a humor,
I had taken up my pen.
The eyes of our rulers have been closed.
Whilst the building is in flames,
very little has been done
to secure the harbor.
January 2005
found poem
Letter from Abigail Adams to John Adams, 1776.
Gulf of Disparity
Bay of Resentment
Elephant Country
Point Elusive
Cote du Privilege
Cape Avarice
Unilateral Shallows
Dim Harbor
The Isthmus of Indifference
Gulf of Disparity
January 2005
found poem
"P.S.", Mother Jones, Jan/Feb 2005
Elephant Country
Point Elusive
Cote du Privilege
Cape Avarice
Unilateral Shallows
Dim Harbor
The Isthmus of Indifference
Gulf of Disparity
January 2005
found poem
"P.S.", Mother Jones, Jan/Feb 2005
butter river
butter skin
butter hands
smooth as water
in waves
onto the rough
sandy shore
butter arms
butter legs
wide like
Mississippi
hot river
messy river
sassy river
flowing river
come in
the water is
fine
January 2005
butter hands
smooth as water
in waves
onto the rough
sandy shore
butter arms
butter legs
wide like
Mississippi
hot river
messy river
sassy river
flowing river
come in
the water is
fine
January 2005
six words
she shivers; the wind cuts through her filmy scarf, a straight edge
she complains, but snubs the hand-knit wood, given as a gift
she accepted it with a squeal, and smiled, a mouth full of sugar
she flipped her hair, hung it up in her closet
she resented her sister for knitting her an ugly scarf
she takes short, cautious steps on the slick sidewalk
she fears that she may appear clumsy
she imagines, sometimes, that her life is a movie
she is always the star, never supporting
she likes to sing the soundtrack to her friends
she laughs, shows how clever she is
she doesn't see the danger in this
she finally walks into Espresso 22, with her sugar smile and ice eyes
she asks me to spot her money for a latte, and any quarters for the meter
as we hug, i want to say no
January 2005
she complains, but snubs the hand-knit wood, given as a gift
she accepted it with a squeal, and smiled, a mouth full of sugar
she flipped her hair, hung it up in her closet
she resented her sister for knitting her an ugly scarf
she takes short, cautious steps on the slick sidewalk
she fears that she may appear clumsy
she imagines, sometimes, that her life is a movie
she is always the star, never supporting
she likes to sing the soundtrack to her friends
she laughs, shows how clever she is
she doesn't see the danger in this
she finally walks into Espresso 22, with her sugar smile and ice eyes
she asks me to spot her money for a latte, and any quarters for the meter
as we hug, i want to say no
January 2005
Friday, April 29, 2011
brother
your hair got long, shaggy
poster boy for the rock star handbook
shoulders so shrugged
shoes so snappy
guitar strap in your hand
you're perfectly happy
to cross that line
roll those eyes
go, go sing on the stage
with your backstage passes
your straight edge lies
you talk a big game
all hypocrites do
stone up your face
make rules to tame
stop smoking, stop using
oh, just like you?
this is no contest
no sibling race.
see, see that girl
go hold her so tight
leave me sitting, legs crossed
in the pew
with candlelight.
grow, grow up
cross your arms and walk away
shirk me off with a sidelong smirk
sing rebel, rebel and way
to that sarcasm.
a prayer doesn't have to be to God,
goddamnit.
private to public
peace in family
January 2005
poster boy for the rock star handbook
shoulders so shrugged
shoes so snappy
guitar strap in your hand
you're perfectly happy
to cross that line
roll those eyes
go, go sing on the stage
with your backstage passes
your straight edge lies
you talk a big game
all hypocrites do
stone up your face
make rules to tame
stop smoking, stop using
oh, just like you?
this is no contest
no sibling race.
see, see that girl
go hold her so tight
leave me sitting, legs crossed
in the pew
with candlelight.
grow, grow up
cross your arms and walk away
shirk me off with a sidelong smirk
sing rebel, rebel and way
to that sarcasm.
a prayer doesn't have to be to God,
goddamnit.
private to public
peace in family
January 2005
Friday, March 4, 2011
Altar
I arrange the tea lights across the desk,
And the blown fuse has transformed it to an altar
In Spain. I am a praying heroine that I've read of in books.
My purple terry cloth towel turns to a shawl, and as I light the incense
Clean hair drips wet on my bare shoulders. I shiver
For warmth and hungrily sip my hot tea.
I grip the olive green mug full of chamomile tea
Hard, even though I burn my fingertips. My desk
Fills with candlelight and warmth.
The heroine approaches the altar
And her hair smells of rosewater. The incense
Curls around the pages of her books.
Hymnals birth from the books,
Whose authors are saints. I look at the tea
Lights all in a row; the incense
Is drunk and heavy, flirts over the desk
And dances barefoot on the altar
With the flickering wicks, reflecting warmth
Onto my bare shoulders. Its warmth
Is a prayer for the books.
Fire, to Steinbeck, patron saint of my altar.
Patience, to Thoreau and the tea
Lights wink in kneeling reverence on the desk.
Imagination, to Carroll, and the incense
Curls up into a smile. The incense
Smiles at the book prayer, its cinder warmth
Floods the desk.
The golden face of Buddha laughs from a book
Cover. I gulp my tea,
Deep, and ponder an icon over the altar.
This is my sanctuary, my altar.
I don the shawl and light the incense,
I compose each prayer as I ignite the tea
Lights, big enough for a blink, and consume the warmth
Of the imagined red votives; Spanish heroine of the books.
Tea lights all in a row--four, then six more on the desk.
My desk is my altar,
My books are the hymnals and the incense,
Curls like warmth. Joni strums in Latin as I ruminate my hot tea.
Sestina, January 2005
And the blown fuse has transformed it to an altar
In Spain. I am a praying heroine that I've read of in books.
My purple terry cloth towel turns to a shawl, and as I light the incense
Clean hair drips wet on my bare shoulders. I shiver
For warmth and hungrily sip my hot tea.
I grip the olive green mug full of chamomile tea
Hard, even though I burn my fingertips. My desk
Fills with candlelight and warmth.
The heroine approaches the altar
And her hair smells of rosewater. The incense
Curls around the pages of her books.
Hymnals birth from the books,
Whose authors are saints. I look at the tea
Lights all in a row; the incense
Is drunk and heavy, flirts over the desk
And dances barefoot on the altar
With the flickering wicks, reflecting warmth
Onto my bare shoulders. Its warmth
Is a prayer for the books.
Fire, to Steinbeck, patron saint of my altar.
Patience, to Thoreau and the tea
Lights wink in kneeling reverence on the desk.
Imagination, to Carroll, and the incense
Curls up into a smile. The incense
Smiles at the book prayer, its cinder warmth
Floods the desk.
The golden face of Buddha laughs from a book
Cover. I gulp my tea,
Deep, and ponder an icon over the altar.
This is my sanctuary, my altar.
I don the shawl and light the incense,
I compose each prayer as I ignite the tea
Lights, big enough for a blink, and consume the warmth
Of the imagined red votives; Spanish heroine of the books.
Tea lights all in a row--four, then six more on the desk.
My desk is my altar,
My books are the hymnals and the incense,
Curls like warmth. Joni strums in Latin as I ruminate my hot tea.
Sestina, January 2005
Friday, January 7, 2011
birthday limerick
there once was a man
called "z"
who was freaked out
about turning thirty--
so he donned a pink
crown,
rode his bicycle all
over town,
and cried, "Who's the
pretty, pretty princess?
It's me!"
8.16.08
called "z"
who was freaked out
about turning thirty--
so he donned a pink
crown,
rode his bicycle all
over town,
and cried, "Who's the
pretty, pretty princess?
It's me!"
8.16.08
grand marais
the delicate slicing of
warm, hard-boiled eggs.
the quiver of the egg's
membrane as my brother and I
peel off the thin shell.
the liberal dolling out
of barbecue sauce on
pink, fleshy chicken.
the sloppy glopping
thoughtful forkfuls of tangy
miracle whip mixed
with celery chunks
and egg yolks.
I am careful in my
first time making
deviled eggs.
I am no longer a
deviled virgin.
the tap tap tap of
mathematical sprinkles
of paprika
...
these things remind
me of lois
...
her classy, polished
fingernails, the same
color as her leathery skin
her matching shoes and purse--
red leather.
her neat, manicured hands
holding a tray of
perfect deviled eggs
just paprika, no parsley
6.12.07
warm, hard-boiled eggs.
the quiver of the egg's
membrane as my brother and I
peel off the thin shell.
the liberal dolling out
of barbecue sauce on
pink, fleshy chicken.
the sloppy glopping
thoughtful forkfuls of tangy
miracle whip mixed
with celery chunks
and egg yolks.
I am careful in my
first time making
deviled eggs.
I am no longer a
deviled virgin.
the tap tap tap of
mathematical sprinkles
of paprika
...
these things remind
me of lois
...
her classy, polished
fingernails, the same
color as her leathery skin
her matching shoes and purse--
red leather.
her neat, manicured hands
holding a tray of
perfect deviled eggs
just paprika, no parsley
6.12.07
for me...
can you scratch a diamond?
you just might be hard enough
for me.
can you creep up behind me
and kiss me on the
back of my neck, to
surprise me in the kitchen?
you just might be soft enough
for me.
can you grasp the bull by
the horns and rip
them out, then hold
them over your mouth,
letting the blood drip?
you just might be strong enough
for me.
can you rock an infant to sleep,
holding her
head in your palm
like a juicy grapefruit
that rests upon your shoulder?
you just might be gentle enough for me.
1.11.06
you just might be hard enough
for me.
can you creep up behind me
and kiss me on the
back of my neck, to
surprise me in the kitchen?
you just might be soft enough
for me.
can you grasp the bull by
the horns and rip
them out, then hold
them over your mouth,
letting the blood drip?
you just might be strong enough
for me.
can you rock an infant to sleep,
holding her
head in your palm
like a juicy grapefruit
that rests upon your shoulder?
you just might be gentle enough for me.
1.11.06
in the harbor
each pebble pops
like a firecracker
the waves
pulling
each stone
away from the
shore
just a tease before
the crashing blanket
pushes them back
the calming
call and answer
of the harbor
9.1.05
like a firecracker
the waves
pulling
each stone
away from the
shore
just a tease before
the crashing blanket
pushes them back
the calming
call and answer
of the harbor
9.1.05
cat-puppy
walking on artist's point,
grand marais.
"I should have known not to
wear my clogs,"
I say, to no one in particular,
as I shiver from the brisk breeze.
The gust separates my
shirt from my back--
goose pimples.
"prime people watching,"
I fake-whisper to mom.
we watch--without staring--
another family as they stumble
over the rocks
Their big black lab
barks incessantly at the passersby,
eliciting a fearful whimper
from a red-capped toddler.
The dog's owner
guffaws a bit too loudly
for the tastes and styles
of northern Minnesota.
"He must have brought that
truck with the Texas plates,"
I fake-whisper to mom.
"Haw, looks like ye brought
yer cat-puppy," snorts
the Texan.
The red-capped boy attempts
to hide behind his
little terrier,
finding his mother's legs
make a better haven
to peek through.
The cat-puppy whimpered
more than the boy--
being predictably
non-confrontational,
the midwestern family
picked up their
cat-puppy and
made their way to the
parking lot.
The Texans snorted and
even the black lab seemed
to swagger more than before,
even amidst the scowls and furrowed
brows of the passersby.
9.1.05
grand marais.
"I should have known not to
wear my clogs,"
I say, to no one in particular,
as I shiver from the brisk breeze.
The gust separates my
shirt from my back--
goose pimples.
"prime people watching,"
I fake-whisper to mom.
we watch--without staring--
another family as they stumble
over the rocks
Their big black lab
barks incessantly at the passersby,
eliciting a fearful whimper
from a red-capped toddler.
The dog's owner
guffaws a bit too loudly
for the tastes and styles
of northern Minnesota.
"He must have brought that
truck with the Texas plates,"
I fake-whisper to mom.
"Haw, looks like ye brought
yer cat-puppy," snorts
the Texan.
The red-capped boy attempts
to hide behind his
little terrier,
finding his mother's legs
make a better haven
to peek through.
The cat-puppy whimpered
more than the boy--
being predictably
non-confrontational,
the midwestern family
picked up their
cat-puppy and
made their way to the
parking lot.
The Texans snorted and
even the black lab seemed
to swagger more than before,
even amidst the scowls and furrowed
brows of the passersby.
9.1.05
seagulls
the seagulls screech their agreement
as they peek at the
rocks along the shore.
the sunlight glints off of
the loud one,
blinding me from its neck.
9.1.05
as they peek at the
rocks along the shore.
the sunlight glints off of
the loud one,
blinding me from its neck.
9.1.05
crack
my breath catches
a tight cracking cough,
a wheeze
too many cigarettes, I think--
I smile into the mirror
(I'm told it releases endorphins)
it almost hurts.
comfort is the black bored
face of stone
so much work, I think--
falseness feels like bile
rising in my throat.
the cold breeze reaches me
up under my skirt.
my stubble stands at attention.
I look up for one moment
from my incessant highlighting,
and I think I can see the wind moving--
no, not moving the bold leaves of autumn or
the loose papers on the coffee table.
but the wind itself--
that elusive and powerful element
Homer's wind.
10.18.04
a tight cracking cough,
a wheeze
too many cigarettes, I think--
I smile into the mirror
(I'm told it releases endorphins)
it almost hurts.
comfort is the black bored
face of stone
so much work, I think--
falseness feels like bile
rising in my throat.
the cold breeze reaches me
up under my skirt.
my stubble stands at attention.
I look up for one moment
from my incessant highlighting,
and I think I can see the wind moving--
no, not moving the bold leaves of autumn or
the loose papers on the coffee table.
but the wind itself--
that elusive and powerful element
Homer's wind.
10.18.04
Intoxicated
the smoke curls up from
my cigarette
coyly perched in its spot
on the glass arby's ashtray--
the only real ashtray
in the whole house--
glass kissing the perfectly
mechanically formed
ikea green ceramic mug--
the cheap folgers coffee
steaming upward,
flirting and dancing with the
smoke--the essence of my addiction.
11.3.04
my cigarette
coyly perched in its spot
on the glass arby's ashtray--
the only real ashtray
in the whole house--
glass kissing the perfectly
mechanically formed
ikea green ceramic mug--
the cheap folgers coffee
steaming upward,
flirting and dancing with the
smoke--the essence of my addiction.
11.3.04
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
bushes
bush brothers
brushing arms,
conversing
talking to each other
with their leaf-hands.
yellow, orange and green,
as the 9:15am
shy sun
peeks through the meek
branches.
23.10.04
brushing arms,
conversing
talking to each other
with their leaf-hands.
yellow, orange and green,
as the 9:15am
shy sun
peeks through the meek
branches.
23.10.04
untitled
the streets are wet and black
like my pupils when
I am one pint over the line
goes along with the shiny
saxophone music from
the television
8.15.04
like my pupils when
I am one pint over the line
goes along with the shiny
saxophone music from
the television
8.15.04
country
the earth resonates
pride for my country
a love, a fraternity
heard with the pulse of the grasshopper
and the cricket.
rushing like blades of grass
in an echo of the rhythm of the wind
the occasional song of a loon,
a bullfrog
interjects on this refrain
of the country, this country,
my country.
8.3.04
pride for my country
a love, a fraternity
heard with the pulse of the grasshopper
and the cricket.
rushing like blades of grass
in an echo of the rhythm of the wind
the occasional song of a loon,
a bullfrog
interjects on this refrain
of the country, this country,
my country.
8.3.04
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
sutil
eres una luz muy sutil
en mi vida
a la vez ese luz me da
alusion
esperanza
y puedo respirar
con facilidad
y estar comodo
para relajarme
y reir
no me di cuenta
que fuera
tan raro
el comportamiento de
una cambia
dia a dia
la manera de mirar a la
gente en la calle
con ojos guardados,
abajo,
casi sin mirar.
cuando empeze evitar
los ojos de la gente
no lo se.
tienes una carinosidad,
una inocencia y novedad,
sin la importancia de
lo que piensan las damas--
eres una brisa sutil que
entra por la ventana
mi biblioteca estirada.
7.6.04
en mi vida
a la vez ese luz me da
alusion
esperanza
y puedo respirar
con facilidad
y estar comodo
para relajarme
y reir
no me di cuenta
que fuera
tan raro
el comportamiento de
una cambia
dia a dia
la manera de mirar a la
gente en la calle
con ojos guardados,
abajo,
casi sin mirar.
cuando empeze evitar
los ojos de la gente
no lo se.
tienes una carinosidad,
una inocencia y novedad,
sin la importancia de
lo que piensan las damas--
eres una brisa sutil que
entra por la ventana
mi biblioteca estirada.
7.6.04
coraje
miro arriba
y veo
con ojos brillantes y ciegos
el cielo celeste
y las caras de las dioses
griegos
aparecen en los nubes
athena--
dame tu corazon
tan fuerte y duro
como perdi mi coraje
no lo se.
20.3.04
y veo
con ojos brillantes y ciegos
el cielo celeste
y las caras de las dioses
griegos
aparecen en los nubes
athena--
dame tu corazon
tan fuerte y duro
como perdi mi coraje
no lo se.
20.3.04
Untitled
quiero recontar mis huellas
no quiero olvidar donde he puesto
mi mismo
los paises
las personas
las palabras
soy egoista de mi vida
20.2.04
no quiero olvidar donde he puesto
mi mismo
los paises
las personas
las palabras
soy egoista de mi vida
20.2.04
howard roark
I do these things for myself,
and no one else.
the smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
words are my boulders of granite,
my journal is my stone quarry.
the stork perches on its nest
at the top of the cathedral belltower
as the sun warms my hands
wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee
the bells ring the hour as I leave
my own perch.
17.2.04
and no one else.
the smoke and steam rise together,
dance into my right hand.
words are my boulders of granite,
my journal is my stone quarry.
the stork perches on its nest
at the top of the cathedral belltower
as the sun warms my hands
wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee
the bells ring the hour as I leave
my own perch.
17.2.04
stability
the clouds look stable against the blue
behind the moving billboard,
the roadside attraction of
leafless branches
the day after christmas.
what sort of stability am I seeking,
such a jet setter
jetting as the sun is setting
along the horizontal sky?
passing cataract elementary school
on the right,
this black hole in my heart
devours itself
hungry and hot
from the prednizone
faces swim in my head
too much to care about,
too much to love.
always too sentimental for my own
goddamn good.
distance is this cleaving in my chest
this watering in my jaw
this dry air at the back of my throat
and this absence of a photograph
in my hand.
12.26.03
behind the moving billboard,
the roadside attraction of
leafless branches
the day after christmas.
what sort of stability am I seeking,
such a jet setter
jetting as the sun is setting
along the horizontal sky?
passing cataract elementary school
on the right,
this black hole in my heart
devours itself
hungry and hot
from the prednizone
faces swim in my head
too much to care about,
too much to love.
always too sentimental for my own
goddamn good.
distance is this cleaving in my chest
this watering in my jaw
this dry air at the back of my throat
and this absence of a photograph
in my hand.
12.26.03
time
measured out in
cups of coffee
time fleets but needs to be
captured
a sapphire in the palm of my
hand.
the motions of every day
go unnoticed
but a decade later
are the photos of your
life
in another era
8.11.03
cups of coffee
time fleets but needs to be
captured
a sapphire in the palm of my
hand.
the motions of every day
go unnoticed
but a decade later
are the photos of your
life
in another era
8.11.03
cancion de vina
my eyes burn, light through the lids
the sun weighs down on them, pressing
half-dreaming
I hear the hymn of Vina.
"aguita helado chirimoya
crema pina a dos..."
the breeze carries the
song through the mist
grazing over my
stomach and chest
sinks in like the rays
8.11.03
the sun weighs down on them, pressing
half-dreaming
I hear the hymn of Vina.
"aguita helado chirimoya
crema pina a dos..."
the breeze carries the
song through the mist
grazing over my
stomach and chest
sinks in like the rays
8.11.03
Untitled
dark green mountainous hills
rise out of
low-grazing clouds
that creep along
lago petrohue
a layered fog
that wraps its limbs
around the hilltops,
touching down
to the humble country homes
limbs reaching toward the distant
punte acudo
wispy white fading into the rainy sky
as our faces become wet with currents of rainwater,
our necks crane at the high hills.
the wind blows the hoods of our ponchos back,
but we don't care
this is the real
"magia del sur."
we cross small rivers up to our knees
shoes, pants and all
we are not cold, or sore.
we trudge in paths of mud
up to our ankles
we are not dirty.
we are in awe.
21.9.03
Untitled
el volcon osorno mira, majestico
atras de las montanas
y los cerros verdes
arriba de las nubes
arriba del mar
arriba del campo tranquilo
con llamas, pudu, una puma
el parque nacional vicente perez rosales
mira al volcon punte agudo
mira con los aguas azules y claros
corriendo por las vocas negras, volcanicas
lagunas de azul, clara, con salmon
[sliding, slipping]
abajo de las cascadas rapidas
playas de la roca volcanica
negra, morada, roja, anaranja
beneath a halo of white-topped mountains
lago azul, cielo azul,
puro paz
a deserted paradise
our footsteps crunch in
the black volcanic sand
subimos por el bosque
por el rio seca
las piedras y arena
como las torres del paine
entramos la selva
verde, verde, verde
ferns surrounding,
moss underneath
rock, gray and silver.
smooth as polished glass
pours the water,
a pitcher,
onto the rocks below.
we beat through the bamboo
foliage think
as smog
footing determined and excited,
but not very sure
catch our breath
when we reach a plateau
turn around, breathless at the view
we sit down to rest,
pinch ourselves to wake up
from the dream.
20.9.03
atras de las montanas
y los cerros verdes
arriba de las nubes
arriba del mar
arriba del campo tranquilo
con llamas, pudu, una puma
el parque nacional vicente perez rosales
mira al volcon punte agudo
mira con los aguas azules y claros
corriendo por las vocas negras, volcanicas
lagunas de azul, clara, con salmon
[sliding, slipping]
abajo de las cascadas rapidas
playas de la roca volcanica
negra, morada, roja, anaranja
beneath a halo of white-topped mountains
lago azul, cielo azul,
puro paz
a deserted paradise
our footsteps crunch in
the black volcanic sand
subimos por el bosque
por el rio seca
las piedras y arena
como las torres del paine
entramos la selva
verde, verde, verde
ferns surrounding,
moss underneath
rock, gray and silver.
smooth as polished glass
pours the water,
a pitcher,
onto the rocks below.
we beat through the bamboo
foliage think
as smog
footing determined and excited,
but not very sure
catch our breath
when we reach a plateau
turn around, breathless at the view
we sit down to rest,
pinch ourselves to wake up
from the dream.
20.9.03
castro
small faces smile,
hold candy and balloons
happiness, so simple for the young
a sea of people,
excited together for the day.
parade of uniforms and badges, silver-plated jackets
step in unison on the pavement,
keeping their official rhythm.
above the sea of people
I can see flashes of white hankerchiefs,
a twirl of a wrist,
a hop with the foot,
the distinctive signature
of Chile's dance,
the dance for today,
the cueca.
the small smiling faces run by
in their national costumes,
the traditional dress.
they are so excited,
so happy,
to be part of the celebration.
flags of red, white, and blue
flood the streets--
they show the abundant pride
the spirit of Chile--
cover the cars and the store signs
a blanket of flags over
the island.
18.9.03
hold candy and balloons
happiness, so simple for the young
a sea of people,
excited together for the day.
parade of uniforms and badges, silver-plated jackets
step in unison on the pavement,
keeping their official rhythm.
above the sea of people
I can see flashes of white hankerchiefs,
a twirl of a wrist,
a hop with the foot,
the distinctive signature
of Chile's dance,
the dance for today,
the cueca.
the small smiling faces run by
in their national costumes,
the traditional dress.
they are so excited,
so happy,
to be part of the celebration.
flags of red, white, and blue
flood the streets--
they show the abundant pride
the spirit of Chile--
cover the cars and the store signs
a blanket of flags over
the island.
18.9.03
castro
the rooster crows
echoes across the countryside
the breeze blows
my hair into my eyes,
I sweep it aside to see
the panoramic view
of castro
the hills with their
yellow flowers and thorns,
los palafitos,
the houses on their long, thin legs
like storks,
the water rising underneath.
the yellow tin church,
three tall steeples, the citadel of el pueblo
rolling clouds in the blue sky,
over rolling hills of green
the virgin overlooks
the ancient cemetery,
smiling down with open arms,
smiling at the tranquil town,
the peace of the island
19.9.03
echoes across the countryside
the breeze blows
my hair into my eyes,
I sweep it aside to see
the panoramic view
of castro
the hills with their
yellow flowers and thorns,
los palafitos,
the houses on their long, thin legs
like storks,
the water rising underneath.
the yellow tin church,
three tall steeples, the citadel of el pueblo
rolling clouds in the blue sky,
over rolling hills of green
the virgin overlooks
the ancient cemetery,
smiling down with open arms,
smiling at the tranquil town,
the peace of the island
19.9.03
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