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Showing posts from August, 2013

El Soul Por La Window

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One day looking at the hill outside my bay window sipping coffee, my first cup awed at how the bougainvillea grow when the bush, like a green curtain, opens up . The hill’s earth now exposed, an entryway appears framed by the pretty pink flowers-ballerinas in the air humming birds danced about. My heart hiccuped, eyes filled with tears to look outside my window and see such flair. Then into the center leaps a furry little creature dark hair, blue-eyes, skin tan, slender as a fawn. The branches bow down, birds chirp, leaves flutter around her such reverence. Like bees to honey, I too am drawn. I want to catch her. I want to teach her. I want to touch her. She nibbles on the fruit fallen from its tree sits on her haunches thigh muscles fibrous-rope I kneel closer to the ground so she won’t see me “Please stay, don’t get scared” I secretly hope. Furry little creature, I take a step closer feet delicate under squeaky boar

The Last Poem

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 Truchas, New Mexico. Look at that moon! Sitting underneath the cauldron sky Far away from home Still the same sky I take in the stars Looking like busted Christmas lights. I wish I may I just might Cast a spell tonight. Take deep breaths Truchas air stings my dry nostrils. The moon leans over my shoulder Immersed in her glow I feel blessed, Forgiven for my wrongs My pen waves across the page Cuts across the lines It writes- Not Queer, not Latina, not brown butch Writes. Not poet, not playwright, not fiction writer Writes,   “Be a writer the way a mountain is a mountain Even in darkness It can’t hide its shape.” My stories stir inside me Truchas Peaks’ deep No clouds in the sky to top the night A breeze plays footsies with my toes Rises and rattles my pages More stars appear to the beat Of crickets’ chirping. Birds, dogs and the brush of my pen harmonize. We all have something to say at the moon, My

Residuum

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Our father who art in heaven… Is that why you were never home? Is that where you’ve been all these years? In heaven? Hollowed be my cries valley of tears at night alone wishing you could bring us our daily bread. Padre nuestro, el cielo esta tan lejos y nos cobija pero me sentĂ­a frĂ­a. Padre nuestro, estas en los cielos y la casa vacĂ­a frĂ­a como hielo. Padre nuestro who art in heaven hallowed be thy name. Efrain! Am I really still mad at you or just mad for this trope? Hollowed cries like bark termites of fear hollowed me out- canoe inside. Me pongo frĂ­a en los tiempos difĂ­ciles dura, difĂ­cil de traspasar. Must forgive your trespasses really, forgive and move on. Forgive myself  for feeling  like I wasn’t enough. Forgive myself for walking around with a chip on my shoulder really, I   had a chipped shoulder all that shrugging and sobbing. I want to deliver me to me, be full of