i have thrown my
pearls to the pigs
you see
how they shimmer
gorgeously
in the snouts of slime?
i am not sad
or only a little
the oysters
i possess
are growing something
glorious
Category: Poems
Second
succumb for a second
hook my head
in your arm and
crush it against
your heart.
it’s 3 AM and
we are here
trying
to hold it together
to keep a safe distance
to make it to morning
in this life
Poems About Waiting
poems about waiting
hover in the corner
by the ceiling
like angels
they don’t mind because
same as angels
waiting is
what they do
they can wait forever
or until tomorrow
they can wait
for anything
or nothing at all
and they won’t wish
you would hurry or
turn on the tv
while you sleep
they are waiting
outside the mosquito net
nearby
with the cats
poems about waiting
might not have words
because speaking
is not what they do
their language is
made up of comas
and spaces
No Language
y que del poema
que existe pero no
nace porque
non trovo la lingua giusta?
none of them have the right
kind of give
per una cosa così necesario
critical and
importante.
bestow se aproxima but
is too formal and
sounds troppo come
chewing something sticky.
obsequiar feels like you
earned it
and you didn’t
assolutamente no;
soy yo la que merezco
mettere in giù questo peso.
dare, così semplice
andrebbe anche bene
until you conjugate it.
first person singular
cae como un puño
al ojo, a la oreja
y me deja
with no language
per questa poesia
così tenera
que muere por nacer.
Addicted to Amazement
let’s become addicted
to amazement
that dizzying electric surprise
when the unexpected
explodes
before our eyes
on our taste buds
over our skin
let’s take it in our coffee
in our water
in our wine
until we can’t live
a single hour without a
surge of glorious disbelief
to calm us
we will claw the earth for it
find it under stones
in the hearts of
little shells
peel it with our teeth from the
bark of tender trees
Los Robles Jalan Rayos
maybe gerardo was right.
maybe there is something sinister
after all about the robles,
those twisted branches
bewitched with luscious
humid blooms in the
driest sun of february’s
scalding curse
he always said
los robles jalan rayos and
i rolled my eyes
but now i wonder.
the robles were blooming their
wicked flowers
when i knew
something was wrong
you tried not to be sick
but i saw the night sweats.
i remembered jenna who had them
before she died
and your skin’s undertone
went from peach to blue.
i saw it,
while on the robles
impossible flowers surged from gnarled twigs
and fell
from the sapphire colored sky
el silencio no
no me hables
abra los ojos y
mírame
dame tu mano
para
memorizar
mírame fijo
y no digas
nada
las palabras engañan
el silencio
no
Dawn
you will be amazed
when the sky begins
to gray
over the sea.
a horizon
emerges
distant as never
before your eyes
that gentle curve of
now
blending into
always
dividing water
from air.
Poem For the Cave
(A love poem for a dark place that ceases to be terrifying when it becomes familiar. I call it The Cave.)
o deep black
space of silence,
place before time,
dark lung that
pulls us in with the air.
this is where we must
find our way
without sight,
the place where the eye
cannot speak and
only our crying echoes
to show us the
shape of our
sorrow.
the texture of air in our
clutching fingers
is so thin and strange.
Slowly Like Snow
you said take me home
to the sea and
i promised
i would
neither of us imagined then
on those last days of
pain patches and tireless visitors
the weight
of a carry-on bag
with ashes
i tried to lift it
into the space above
my seat on the plane but
couldn’t
the gentleman who helped
eyed me strangely
when the plane took off pointing
toward the endless Atlantic, i
reached for your hand
i really did
but your hand wasn’t there
it was in tiny pieces in
the overhead compartment
and i had only air
to hold on to
i cried then
as we lifted
everyone could see me
you said take me home
to the sea
and i promised
i went down into the water
with your teeth and
your bones pressed into
my skin
and watched
as the tiny pieces
fell slowly like snow
around me
Until the Colibrís
i can wait
you told me not to but
i can
i can sit so still
even the monkeys
forget about me and
fall asleep in
my trees
i can wait longer
than you
can hold your breath
until the clouds clear and
colibrís
come looking
for flowers
More di Gelso
i nonni stanno piantando
i fagiolini li
nei loro giardini al Parco
dei Fontanili
i pesci sono tornati
a nuotare nel fiumetto
sotto il ponte
la lavanda comincia a
fare i fiori violi, profumando
l’aria, chiamando gli appi
ma tu dove sei
eri qui, ne sono sicura
avevamo camminato qua
insieme a la mano
guardando i piccoli fiori del castagno
rubando le more di gelso
Talking to Myself 