That we head towards
our separate End
and know it only
by the name of Death…
But makes this life
with you more dear.
And having known
this joy and you
so tender
without a fear
I face this life
so beautiful
and in the End
will with pain
surrender
the sight,
the touch,
or memory
of You.
–Stephany
Nina was the hardest of them
all,
the worst woman I had known
up to that moment
and I was sitting in front of
my secondhand black and white
tv
watching the news
when I heard a suspicious
sound in the kitchen
and I ran in there
and saw her with
a full bottle of whiskey –
a 5th –
and she had it and
was headed for the back porch
door
but I caughter her and
grabbed the bottle.
“give me that bottle, you
fucking whore!”
and we wrestled for the
bottle
and let me tell you
she gave me a good fight
for it
but
I got it away from her
and I told her to
get her ass out of
there.
she lived in the same place
in the back
upstairs.
I locked the door
took the bottle and a
glass
went out to the couch
sat down and
opened the bottle and
poured myself a good
one.
I shut off the TV and
sat there
thinking about what a
hard number
Nina was.
I came up with
at least
a dozen lousy things
she had done
to me.
what a whore.
what a hunk of rock.
I sat there drinking
the whiskey
and wondering
what I was doing
with Nina.
then there was a
knock on the
door.
it was Nina’s friend,
Helga.
“where’s Nina?”
she asked.
“she tried to steal
my whiskey, I
ran her ass
out of here.”
“she said to meet
her here.”
“what for?”
“she said me and her
were going to do it
in front of you
for $50.”
“$25”
“well, she’s not
here… want a
drink?”
“sure…”
I got Helga a glass
poured her a
whiskey.
she took a
hit.
“maybe,” she said,
“I ought to go get
Nina.”
“I don’t want to see
her.”
“why not?”
“she’s a whore.”
Helga finished her
drink and I poured
her another.
she took a
hit.
“Benny calls me a
whore, I’m no
whore.”
Benny was the guy
she was shacked
with.
“I know you’re no
whore, Helga.”
“thanks. Ain’t ya got no
music?”
“just the radio…”
she saw it
got up
turned it
on.
some music came
blaring out.
Helga began to
dance
holding
her whiskey
glass in one
hand.
she wasn’t a good
dancer
she looked
rediculous.
she stopped
drained her drink
roller her glass along the
rug
then ran toward
me
dropped to her knees
unzipped me
and then
she was down
there
doing tricks.
I drained my
drink
poured another.
she was
good.
she had a college
degree
some place back
East.
“get it, Helga, get
it!”
there was a loud
knock
on the front
door.
“HANK, IS HELGA
THERE?”
“WHO?”
“HELGA!”
“JUST A MINUTE!”
“THIS IS NINA, I WAS
SUPPOSED TO MEET
HELGA HERE, WE HAVE A
LITTLE SURPRISE FOR
YOU!”
“YOU TRIED TO STEA
MY WHISKEY, YOU
WHORE!”
“HANK, LET ME
IN!”
“get it, Helga, get
it!”
“HANK!”
“Helga, you fucking whore…
Helga, Helga, Helga!!”
I pulled away and
got up.
“let her in.”
I went to the
bathroom.
when I came out they
were both sitting there
drinking and smoking
laughing about
something.
then they
saw me.
“50 bucks,” said Nina.
“25 bucks,” I said.
“we won’t do it
then.”
“don’t then.”
Nina inhaled
exhaled.
“all right, you
cheap bastard, 25
bucks!”
Nina stood up and
began taking her
clothes off.
she was the hardest
of them
all.
Helga stood up and
began taking her
clothes off.
I poured a
drink.
“sometimes I wonder
what the hell is
going on
around here,” I
said.
“don’t worry about
it, Daddy, just
get with it.”
“just what am i
supposed to
do?”
“just do
whatever the fuck
you feel
like doing,”
said Nina
her big ass
blazing
in the
lamplight.
–Charles Bukowski
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly.
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
–Maya Angelou
R.I.P always
spanish
spanglish
hispanic
is north america’s second language
taught poorly in schools
coached in offices
shouted from rooftops
and cackled in homes
my mom really only spoke fluently
when she was angry or gossiping
it never sounded romantic to me
like its own heaviness
a language
to be muttered
under the breath of grumpy puerto rican men
as morenos walk by
for second generation children to scold their children
and for Hollywood
whenever a character
needs to curse in a pg-13 movie
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Travel List:
bug spray
lotion
deoderant
swimsuit
laptop…
Directions:
9:42 TGV 9566 platform 1
Hotel de la Comete
196 Boulevard de la Villete, La Villete near 19e
Left here…
June 23rd first impressions:
our ridiculous walk to find the Moulin Rouge
left my feet blistered and bruised
hungry i am, but money must be preserved
for the next train
thank god for all the pasta and bread to
fill the belly
Notre Dame made me want to sing to the hunchback
and in between the stares
constant glares
i found out that crepes can be savory
graffiti subways
public muggings
Come in
Tell me of your trip
of memories gained
pictures taken
food eaten
Tell me of curries and roads I can’t pronounce
gates swinging
of your father’s stare
when he realized how much you look like him now
Tell me about mountains and city-scapes
hungry faces
yellow eyes and green irises
About your dream girl just there
Come in quick
Did his eyes swell with pride
or a glint of selfishness
wishing he was young again, undoing certain choices
Tell me about the train you missed
the mists over fields
the mansions and shacks
how the words jumbled around in your mouth before
now familiar
just easing out
Tell me of oceans
and time zones
animals
Speak to me until we are no longer strangers
but kin
establishing a reconnection
Do the men where you come from sway when they talk
Do the women where you come from shuffle their feet as they walk
and even though the stars are the same
if you tell me
that you laid there
under their luminous glow, wishing
I will know they must’ve been brighter than any stars
I have ever known
shh don’t cry for the
innocents slain at their hands
innocence is often broken
don’t cry for me
i’m still here
taking it all in
but find a tear
for those two legged foes
who walk on this earth
to destroy consume and bend
your parts around your will
those hardened hearts without control
they are considered normal
and until the reign of normal ends
cry for what could have been
The sun is still down and maybe even downer.
Two owls, one white and one large-eared,
dive into a nothingness that is a field, night-beast
in the swoop-down, (the way we all have to
make a living). Let’s be owls tonight, stay up
in the branches of ourselves, wide-eyed,
perched on the edge of euphoric plummet.
All your excellencies are making me mouse,
but I will shush and remain the quiet flyer,
the one warm beast still coming to you in the dark
despite all those old, cold, claustrophobic stars.
–Ada Limón
Don’t smile
for some reason smiling is a sin that tempts the devil inside most people to cross that line
between polite and creepy
Don’t fear the boys who follow you
like dogs sniffing at the scent of your heels pressing the pavement
running will only encourage those emboldened by the cover of night
Never slouch or try to disappear into yourself
this will only make them want you more
Hold your chin parallel to the ground
more often than not they just want the queen they see gliding by to soften
to cuddle their crusted over sense of rage and rejection
to hold not knowing how so they reach out and grab
You remind them of ma and grandma pounding yam in the kitchen before dinner
of Sunday school mornings and hide-and-go-freak evenings
of their first dirty magazine
and the embarrassment of not knowing how to kiss because no one tells them what they’re expected to know
Don’t offend when skulked
Watch your shadow in a reflection
it will meet a person too close
before your eyes do
Don’t back down when challenged
and balance your bags on both shoulders
Don’t let that comment burrow inside
I know you’re tired
but home is waiting just there
and that place
you should keep safe…
and defend
by any means
necessary.
The Poetry Corner 