My Poetry

Thanks Kurran! You got me thinking about when I used to write and I'm thinking I might feel brave enough (you know, now that I can get three shots and not faint) to share some of my poetry. Mind you, I wrote these like 10 years ago. I'll put an * next to the titles that were published in our little San Jacinto College publication called Chrysalis.

Waiting Womb
She wobbles in
out of breath
swollen belly
three children follow.
Plops down next to me
children at my feet
laughingplaying
I don't feel like laughing
feel only pain--
cramping from uterus to knees
it burns.
Air is tight
like her stomach,
their laughter
thick and sticky
like my blood.


The Narrow Path
the bay shines,
reflecting the light
of the moon.
yet the only light I see
reflected, is the narrow path,
directly in front of me --
yellow water leading
to the moon.


Exposure
Thoughts seek shelter in shadows
in the arid attic of my mind,
like the roll of undeveloped
film, full of flat images
finds refuge in the dry dark
at the bottom of my bag.
Both attempt to avoid
the sting of tears or
chemicals that come with
exposure to the light.


*Freedom
Up here I see
cranes fly,
rising from the
blue flooded bayou,
water on their white wings,
like wings of angels,
carrying away my
blue tears.

How I long to soar,
to leave my bayou behind,
but my wings are clipped.
Yet, I endure for sights
such as these --
cranes flying free
tempting me to test
my own wings,
dwarfed and dusty,
to spread them --
jump.



*In the Woods of East Texas
the leaves fall like snowflakes
pile on the ground
touched by sunlight
setting the forest on fire
pine needles hang like icicles
without the heaviness of winter

i no longer yearn for snow,
white and pure as angels--
give me fire.


Ecstasy
I couldn't stop,
or didn't want to.
The point is I hit it,
and the temptation to look
pulled me from my car.
The expression on its face
was ecstasy.
Its thankful eyes
looked up at me
as blood oozed from its body
like the tears from my eyes.
I looked at its soft organs
finally released from that
protective barrier of skin
that held it all in
so tight.
I envied this animal
for this bursting, this bliss.


*Molting
The sun rises and
a woman slips into
her appropriate attire.
She pulls on her bra,
strapping herself in --
breasts restricted,
constrained.
Pantyhose cling tight
shortening her stride--
the thick nylon web
holding in her desires.
Her thighs rub together;
her passions build,
creating a heat that
smolders.
High heels pinch her toes,
her feet cramp.
She reminds herself
she will arrive home
with the sunset
at last able to shed
her day.

Mi Abuelita
Her eyes,
heavy with suffering
blue like seas
that flood her and drown the ache

Her skin,
wrinkled and water-logged
brown like sand
beneath waves
of sweat and tears

Her hands,
drenched with soft strength
labored pink
with the power
to part waters.


The Pink in a Flame
The rain ceases and
the northern sky burns blue,
like the eyes of a newborn.

In the southern sky the
clouds sit, piles of ash,
gray as aging skin.

Somewhere between these
two skies
I find a flaming glow,
pink --
the quarrel of doves and demons.