Xicano Poetry Daily just published two of my poems

Here are the edited versions with accents and corrected Spanish words that I submitted misspelled. I am embarrassed to say the least.

Click here to read

“What You Can Count On”

La Superior is a bakery on Cupples Road

Where pan dulce, tortillas, French bread más fino

and matchmaking is dispensed.

Bet your bottom dollar.

La Superior – how haughty,

employing young neighborhood girls

to bag at the client’s prolonged requests –

“Dos de pan de huevo… un marranito… tres cuernos…”

And these girls mentally adding the cost

as the orders go on

…”Y échale dos empanadas de camote,

my sweet potato – one for you and one for me”

La Superior – most exceptional.

This, the place where my parents met.

My first employer too – at $5 an hour

I’d count by fives and tens and hand out an order,

not skipping a beat,

– “I don’t like empanadas. Quién sigue?!”

“Untitled”

What I should have confessed when you called to ask if todo está bien,

aunque dije bien, bien, bien…

was how the disappointment of an empty room astonishes me –

as if the wooden threshold could be Arkansas mud

and the next room ought to be an open field of blue bonnets

en vez de encontrar un cuarto desnudo de tu luz.

Quise decir to you, confess

I’m lonelier than I let on and too cabeza dura to mention

that I sit and meditate on the swash of tires trekking the wet roads

foolishly convinced a tempestuous surf was lashing my walls

and I was caught in a sea storm never to see you again.

La verdad es que

this solitude occupies me like swallows in the south during December.

Sólo en ti pienso and I fly down a hallway too narrow for these impatient wings,

desesperarda when the phone rings that it might be you.

I must tell you I am lonely, lonely, lonely

Sin ti.

Letters To Friends

Dear Alejandra

Your woman’s body needs no apology,
though its cellular structure may carry
the memory of wounds that wobble
about like dodos. The past is a paradigm

of absurdities, and consideration of such clownish
tragedies requires the levity of laughter, a billowing
sea of tears, or a silence more absolute than black.

It would be easy to curl up into shame
like a crushed spider. It would easy
to lie back like a passive hillside and let another
reap the sweet wheat your heart has grown,

but your still wild territories can neither
be staked or claimed, and within the boundaries
of the astrological network of your atoms,
there are sacred chasms of space more vast
than the distance between galaxies drifting.

***

written to me by a friend on another blog site.

I invite anyone to try and one-up her :-p

Summer Linens

Semaphore skirt – old

thin material that always

fit just right – waving

the proclamation

of a new state of mind – bright

transparent in the sun,

I am my own.

*****************

*****************

I haven’t been writing, so I just sort of jotted this little poem down about what I’m wearing and how I’m feeling today 🙂

I’ve been thinking more on the high rise of my life and of something else that poet Cavalieri said in the session. She said that she writes about Trenton, NJ and Italian culture because that is who she is and that is where she comes from. Some of the best poetry comes from what you know best. I find that I hardly write about my culture though it really did shape the person I am today. So I’m thinking of writing a series of poems that pertain to some of the floors in my high rise life that really show just what being me (a Latina/Chicana/Mexican American) in the West side of San Antonio was like. I haven’t dug into that part of my life poetically before. Hope it produces something of which I can truly be proud.