Your mother works hard on her quaint garden,
Watering memories to help your nostalgia grow
Sometimes she hums under her breath —
Harmonizing with the insects so sociable and chatty —
Freckles speckled on her shoulders
Like her grandfather’s own back in Los Angeles
Sun kisses, she calls them:
These orange spots like miniature cherry tomatoes.
The sun beats down on her straw hat;
It smells of warm hay and sunscreen
(Non-toxic and natural, of course)
Good old dirt and herbs are better than a doctor
Organic food is good, but home-grown is best —
Cherry tomatoes are better than Doritos.
Fresh and green smelling cherry tomatoes,
These orbs of red and orange, tautly filled with juices
Some so plump they fall off their stem
You bite into this glistening ruby and it bursts
An explosion so sour, sweet, and crisp
It prickles your tongue
Juice gushes down your fingers accompanied by tiny seeds
Like boats
You take your hand-me-down shoes off
Digging your toes into the soil
Nearby grass is dry and brittle, toughened
Under summer skies
But here, everything is vibrant and viridescent
The leaves of the tomatoes are slightly sticky
Reaching to pull you in — won’t you stay here forever
Where bees buzz amongst the blossoms of tomatoes-to-be?
You roll another cherry tomato between your fingertips–
Your own arms have freckles too,
But not so dense as your mother’s.
You rest the cherry tomato softly on your lips, inhaling
The sweet smell of fragile summer.
All had thought, you were heartless; your heart a lifeless desert.
When the day came, it shattered that image into a million pieces.
You knew not to go. You are letting him win.
You've given him the satisfaction he craves.
You thought it was safe, once he walked away
But he came back to you. Whispers to you.
And then you lost the brutal battle with the devil
It feels as though he has risen from the depths,
Unlocking the dungeon that held your emotions.
Now, at the brim of the floodgates,
So high, about to drown your façade
It attacks with the force of a tsunami
The secret you do not want exposed.
Your eyes scream the truth
Tears flow upon your face,
Forming a puddle of truth
That you passionately hate.
He knows. You care.
Starling, Savannah or Saffron
A sparrow I could not decide
Confiscated my glimpse
Of your nearby steps in the park
Stealing my breath
Invading my sacred space
I searched my friendly acquaintance
Now perched upon the wavering uneven branch
Will the tree protect my hiding?
Watching you smiling and carefree
Blind to my gaze upon you
Wrinkles outlined your now fading skin
Your hands still move effortlessly
Once gliding gently across my own
Without hesitation
You reach for a new companion before me
Startled, the sparrow flies away
Recklessly
Disentangling from his branch
Close my eyes, two sparrows we used to be
Our steps were in unison
Your smile from my face
We’d lay across the blanket
No boundaries of time
Our bodies enveloped like home
Our lives branched into one tree
Am I forever lost in my migration?
Gliding and soaring through the endless borders
And horizon
That will never touch
Or reach me
When my time of pain and sorrow will cease to exist
I will love you regardless
Of what you have done to me
I will forgive you regardless
Of the wounds you’ve caused me
largest part of earth
undiscovered
beneath the surface
we attempt to explore
but our bodies don’t have the capacity
neither do our minds
our bodies enveloped
in the waves
legs kicking back and forth
fighting the current
that’s pulling us further
into the sea
what’s beneath us
remains a mystery
imagine what we would find
squid as big as submarines
only they don’t need machinery
to protect them
from the pressures of the deep
our shores lay dependent
on a grey sphere up in the sky
we’ve explored our oceans
but have more familiarity
with the moon
the sun rises and falls
everyday red, yellow, and orange hues
color the sky
reflected off the surface
of the great big blue
the biggest animal in the world
consumes the smallest animal
how could that ever satisfy them?
lakes within oceans
absorbed in darkness
yet life persists
animals with their own lightbulbs
navigating through the deep
when the oceans illuminate
we call it a miracle
giving us our own
guided light
our laughter echoes
over the expansive horizon
only to be drowned out
by waves
thousands of years in the making
mini mountains rise and explode
their eruptions shake earth
cracking roads and buildings
tsunamis push waves that rise
above our tallest trees
homes washed away
we split our ocean into pieces
atlantic, pacific, arctic, and indian
as if we have control over what it does
I want to build your high horse a stable
let it rest a while
let it lay down with mine.
I want to mill that hot air
see it put to use
turning wheels
blowing glass
warming the soil after a frost.
We'll skip stones across still ponds, once cast in judgment.
See all that manure bring forth lush vegetation
so that winged beasts may perch
and call to the spring.
did you ever see
the chain laid bare
each link uncovered
unfolded, raw?
the generations
ahead, behind
- all that isn’t self -
giving us our name.
did you ever try
to be set free?
Close the cabinets, Hon,
her life’s refrain,
each and every “please” ignored.
Goddamn Greg,
traipsing through the kitchen,
leaving chaos like a bitter breadcrumb trail.
The doors,
splayed wide on their hinges,
reached out like so many hands,
scratching at her brain.
this rabbit hole
(the one i’m digging to nowhere)
only goes so deep,
and then it stops far short
of where i am in need.
so i burrow
sideways and for many miles.
anywhere that’s not
the deep cut of the truth,
the place from which i bleed.
She is with me still,
my mother,
paying me visits in
the sound of my own speech.
Not always, or even very often,
but every now and then
I will open my mouth
and there she’ll be,
riding the notes of my voice and
waving to me in my laughter.
And always,
when she shows herself,
the sudden, fierce prick of pain
all over again.
If I ever write about you
Just know that this means one of three things
You either ruined me
Completed me
Or managed to do both
And the people I write about who haunt me the most
Are those who fall under the third
Because at one point you meant the world to me
And then out of nowhere you set my world ablaze
So kudos to you all
It takes someone special to go above and beyond
Someone who doesn’t care about hurting those they claim to love
I feel my flame growing colder
It’s dwindling
Spiraling
I’m losing
Falling
Crashing
I no longer believe in what once kept me going
What once kept me breathing
Numbness continues to take over the parts of me
That were once blossoming
Thriving
Living
It’s all empty space now
It’s all lifeless
Chilling
And gray
Give me love and I won’t know what to do with it
I’ll lose interest quick and run away from it
But if you give me chaos I’ll know exactly how to handle it
I’ll dive deep into its madness and make it my own
I’ll allow it to consume me and eventually I’ll call it home
Do I feel you near me?
Is that you tapping on my heart?
Guiding me through history
And the pages of your story
You left it behind and started again
A new life where freedom reigns
So very close but still such a climb
Processed like a document
Examined like an unknown stain
Led to the idea of a better future
Endless tests of standard competency
Seeking asylum from the world's snares
Growing in the knowledge of these days
And traveling to this promised land.
To your thick glasses and thicker compression socks.
May your towel always be wrapped tightly in heaven.
May the “good stuff” always be flowing.
May your wife always remember your name.
May you always have apple juice, and may everyone call you doctor.
May they remember everything about you that I didn't get to learn.
May they never forget your name.
Salud
Seasons come and go quickly but not enough
At least from Mid-January to late February
We keep our eyes out for a special guest to appear
A wonderful white flurry develops at dusk
Those icy fibers swirl down cheerfully
Spiraling, to eventually fall with soothing softness
We mark their collective appearance as sole, yet each speck-
Under a microscope unusually appears distinctly unique
That is true, until you pinch them one by one
They’re individually fragile making them impractical
Once each of the frozen flakes latches on to one other
After reaching the surface, together they form an alliance
Growing larger with time and perfect temperature
We peek out our frosted windows for enchantment
To bring necessary amusement amid the gloomy days
With open arms our warmth comes to embrace it all
And soon the deep dark freeze catches on
This menace silences those around it
The wind commands it to behave rudely, it says
Create an abyss, cave in the doorways, bury it all!
This tormenting tyrant doesn’t last for very long
Eventually the shy sunshine will come around
Or shovels and plowing heavy metal machines
Looking to get rid of the dirty, stone cold blocks of ice
Still, we long for that fresh fine powder to make a visit
Now we must patiently wait with our hands folded
Until the next winter season arrives and goes the same
This poem was originally published in print with formatting that was not possible to reproduce in our web system. To read the poem as it was intended, please pick up a copy of Volume 27 of Tahoma West from the publication offices in MAT 151, or the Center for Student Involvement in the University YMCA Student Center.
Karla is what they named me.
Because it`s the female version of
my father`s name.
Never to have a son named after him so place it on the last one.
They say I should feel honor which I do,
But please tell me why I feel so blue?
Can you show me the view you all see of it?
Put me on your shoulders give me a tour?
But I already knew why the Hyacinth in my world is being invasive.
In our tongue, my name is a blank canvas.
Just the shadow of the man I was named after.
I thought this was the 21st century!?
Why is it that my sister`s name has more color than mine?
Was there nothing to inspire?
Was it laziness or disappointment?
Then someone who I didn`t know existed
claims I`m a copycat of theirs.
Don`t you know this is a common share?
I`m no copycat,
I carry the name of what should have been a male heir.
Just keep adding more water to the funeral flowers
that keep creating a flower crown.
On a quest, I go to international museums
to see something other than pale silky skin.
Nope, my name has been forsaken there too.
Hiding in the shadows accumulating dust once again.
Being the reflection of another who isn`t me.
How come my name is simply the female version of another.
But I guess beggars can`t be choosers.
At least the meaning I share is one I can get behind.
It is a remind,
That I am a fighter.
Man warrior.
So, look at me in the face etymology and
Apologize, apologize, apologize!
A house made of glass
No opaque to be found
An army of roots
A shattering sound
And as the house falls
Like a man to his knees
The earth gives a shout
As the architect weeps
I returned
To a familiar sound
But its tone had changed
The trees waved
In a genial motion
I returned the gesture
The ocean roars with unmatched fury
As I entertain a fleeting notion
The waves they crash
Electric commotion
I surrender to its violent motions
Relaxed I glide across the sea
A tethered vessel
A floating buoy
And just as I begin to sink
I think of land
A distant mystique
I’d lay my adoration for you out on a silver platter
but you’ve never been hungry for my candor
Only you could shed my cynicism
as fluidly as unzipping my dress
the fire burns
it fills my veins
tightening my heart
making it hard to breathe
the smoke consumes my lungs
i open my mouth
all i can do is cough
i try to move
but the fire builds
it breaks me down
tearing all foundation away
and stripping all memories
till i am just ashes
the fire took over
but even in ashes
the phoenix rises.
the fire burns
it fills my veins
tightening my heart
making it hard to breathe
the smoke consumes my lungs
i open my mouth
all i can do is cough
i try to move
but the fire builds
it breaks me down
tearing all foundation away
and stripping all memories
till i am just ashes
the fire took over
but even in ashes
the phoenix rises.
my canary incisors rotting from smoke
and my auburn strands thinning,
an identity befitting the altering chameleon
like a putrid corpse on her ninth life.
through my first life,
senses untarnished
and illusory potentials.
her forgiving body
thrown on the floor,
a vernacular of passionate sensitivity.
my second,
the seclusion set.
lost in the ether,
a threatening exile
fixed
like the lip of the raw bruise on my left knee.
third,
the polite virago.
placid on the exterior
a benevolent grin
white knuckles clutching at their heavy heartstrings.
fourth,
my crimson grin flattered the broken woman,
a fantasy touched by the slivers of my full bust
and cigarette stains from each voyeur.
eternally bound in his tenure,
is this version more beautiful than the last?
fifth,
and sixth,
and seventh round,
i suited my mother—
doomed from the start
and agony possessing my hips,
three insurmountable marriages fastened around my
ring finger
now a desolate snow.
drenched in self-reproach,
a delicate requiem served my eighth life;
molding to the bathtub tile until the water drains
and trusting i somehow slip down too.
how strenuous
to be a woman born with pain built in,
gradually charring her insides
from anticipated calamity.
do i look pretty like this?
Have you ever watched a flower bloom?
Neither have I. I wonder why.
Perhaps I am too impatient. Perhaps you are
too busy. Perhaps there is too much life to
live and we prioritize what we believe is
worth our time, because we have instilled
the idea that time is limited, it is crushing
and a race above everything else.
I have not taken time to watch a flower
bloom, but I think I have seen one before,
unintentionally, in the quick glimpse
through my peripherals.
The beauty sprouts from a simple bud, and
the petals form and grow, and if they are an
underrated sunflower, they follow the sun
and that is the blossom.
I’m sure if you watch from another angle
you will catch as they spiral up, or as they
thrust themselves out, as they raise just a bit,
and in all sense they are becoming alive.
They feel the wind gushing through their
delicate entities, and they get pushed around,
but rarely weaken and snap apart. They
stand tall, immaculate in the scenery.
If we do not choose to even take the time to
watch them bloom, then why do we find so
much beauty and significance in them?
Why do the artists paint them into a mural?
Why do the florists dream of them to thrive
before plucking them from their roots?
Why do lovers await to obtain and
exchange—give and receive them to only
admire their breathlessness for one
brief second of their life?
If we sacrifice a single moment of
admiration for them, then what is the point
of attempting to gain that single moment
back any other time?
I do not watch flowers bloom, and I do not
attempt to portray their beauty in a mural or
capture their dying breaths in a flower shop
and I barely admire them when they rest in a
vase in my presence... but I admire the fact
that a flower blooms. And I admire the fact
that a flower gives it all up for the sake of
ignorance and lost admiration.
When a flower blooms, a flower does not
think of the restriction of time, a flower
thinks of all the momentary admiration it
will obtain before it wilts, before it is
shunned, before becoming betrayed and
tossed away.
Unlike the artist creating a mural of this
particular, tangible wonder, I chose to
immortalize it within this, and so in the end,
am I just the same?
Coronavirus
It's here.
We hid in our houses,
For weeks hoping for normal again.
But time and time again,
We were told it can't happen.
The streets which were full of life,
Suddenly became silent.
Watching the birds outside free
Playing tag through the branches,
Chirping without a care
Taking a break with rich sugar water.
Wishing I had that freedom.
Leaving only to get groceries
Following the stickers on the floor
With authority of where to go.
Then the day came - the hope
For the normal again.
Only to be taken again,
Like a kid getting into something
They aren't supposed to.
With hospitals breaking at the seams,
We shouldn’t be open.
Grocery stores with departments,
Closed from continuous outbreaks.
Death is all around us
But still let's open up.
Slowly but surely we did.
With mask and a vaccine card
You can have the normal back.
After forced vaccinations we open more,
Bringing back school.
But after two weeks,
Students are sick - classes canceled
Missing in person school like before.
It’s still here.
But yet,
We act like it's not.
