The Stench of Marigolds
January 29th:
Sixteen year-old
Breath
is smoking on a cold morning
Deep.
Long.
Drags
As
the Sun greedily licks
The
night off lampposts,
Molests
the concrete
Resting
head on dark ringlets,
Cradling
necks,
Frustration
vibrating
Through
lips,
Torturing
a bare shoulder
Shivers--
¡Aye dios mio!
The
sun hovering over the twin hills
Crawling
up Men’s 7 Adidas
“I can’t give you
what you want…”
Stays
in the voice box
Because
even selfish brujas get lonely
January 30th:
Now
Eyes
a backyard pool Blue—
Daisies
with yellow pupils
Skin
a polished counter: Carrera White—
America’s
most wanted
Tears
Marigold petals: Orange—
Cylinder
home to ten-milligram disks
*November 3rd:
Serenading
the French door
By
Strumming
the only two working strings
The
sound carrying out
Of the backyard’s fiberglass tomb
Climbing
into
*'Manita’s casket of clothes…
Notes
wafting through the vent spying
*‘Mano Con su
Cartuchos--
Three
bags of Cheetos
Have already been murdered by the Munchies….
Acoustic
plucking slipping under the door
To
the adjacent bathroom
Caressing
Madre’s Raw hands--
Always
scrubbing against
Yellow
gloves
Finally,
The strumming reaches
The
little space above the garage
Where *El Jefe sits…
Cradling
me in his large hands…
Leaving
fingerprints on a glossy face
My
guitar hums a history of love
But
they can only hear
The
dissonance of
A
warm Gun's Barking laugh
Landline’s
Shrill scream
And
Howls reverberating
Against
the Rustling, white sheet
Unknown:
She
snuck in my room before--
El Jefe was slicing Madre in the kitchen,
‘Mano sharpening his
tongue on the whetstone,
‘Manita making her rounds
at the retail stores…
Too
tired to sleep,
Too
fatigued to move,
She straddled me,
Red
velvet caressed my thighs…
Want vibrating--
¡Santo cielo!
But Madre…
“I can’t give you
what you want…”
Leaving
the room,
Reeking
of Marigolds,
“Yet.”
Stayed
in the voice box,
Because
even good mijos make mistakes
******************************************************************************
*Dia De Los Muertos
* Little Sister
* Brother with his joints
* Ole' man/ Dad
I am not really sure what to say to this. I see that it has been mainly you and me posting. That's good, but I just wish more people would. I am slowly putting together a writers group on facebook, because I think it would more likely work when everyone is already on there. What do you think? Maybe you wouldlike to join?
ReplyDeleteAs for the poem, you have done it again! I can't really say anything about it, because your style is something I am not really familiar with in terms of writing. I am working on exploring more styles. I am sorry that I can't really say much. I have been enjoying your poems and your revisions.
It's ok, Casey. Always thankful for any feedback! I noticed that, too. I was hoping once people saw us posting, they might post a little something themselves... oh well, it was worth a shot! :)
ReplyDeleteI'd definitely be interested, just tell me the title of the group, and i'll search and join!
Also, looking over your poem, been a bit busy but you should be hearing from me this week... so far I really love it. Especially after I did research on the character you are referring too. His storyline reminds me a little bit of Lelouch's from Code Geass. Don't know if you've heard of it... but it has one of the best storylines! Sorry, reigning in my inner fangirl. Talk to you soon!