Writing

There are many young people in his group filling cups with color and readying the projector. He stands by me….in the grove behind up animals show up….ibis…we turn to watch…a Tylar or Josie run down to ask something for the sound.Claudia smiles about something. The audience gathers…I make my body aerodynamic and glide into the grass grove to watch the birds.


My mother and father sit together on my couch

and reconnect

they talk about family

speak like friends, lovers

my mom disappears

leaves notes in town

Dominick

my father finds work

I am listening to the world

I visited the baby marty delivered

pauline came through the house

you speak the sea

he says they use you like a weapon in there

“That’s a good song”

she stole the pink flowers

she planned her escape

she jumped into the train with the baby

she hurt herself


A sea storm about to travel

Hiding from strange men

Sweatshirt for friend’s child

 

Eddie and Marty are sitting on a ladder

Paintings

Editing poetry journal pronoun–

it is important

 

A horse

 

I traveled to Pamela’s house

Stayed a few days, took all her black clothes with silver and gold.

Pamela says, “don’t be afraid of your education.”

 

Are you leaving?

 

Do you like in there?

 

Black marble bathroom

Pamela’s house

 

We are fixing the root

There are houses

You are holding something

A white peacock

In the field

You have friends working the land

We walk through the neighborhood

Nopales Agave

The dirt road

 

This is precious

I have my pictures with me

I am piloting down the canal

The rain is misting

We are deep in the canyon forest

You find the train cars tied with fancy string

 

Light hums in a city room

Yesenia is writing a book

A red Kite for Tosh

 

Josh is fixing the wood-shed door

Hanging from the roof

A huge sky

Birds circling

 

Traveling with a little food in the bag

No-one knows I am here

I am arriving

 

Walking the dark trail I almost turn back

Saddleback cliffs

Grass and sea

 

Blue night

 

A circle of images

Students

 

 

My brother

Photographs brewing in a pot

Secrets inside a rock

I am younger

Keys to the house

Caught in the house

House

I draw

I take my time walking to Russia

 

Losing Tosh

 

White dress covered with bracelets

 

Aloha

 

Dark fills to the falls

“are you ok?”

Ismenia says,” It is difficult Ms. Reed.”

“The baby is having a hard time”

Yaya’s hermano visits

Long black hair

Hair construction

The people organizing

The sheriff laughing

I introduce myself to the video class

 

Your father was there

You were in the back of the room

He wanted to see you

She let him go in to the night, away from the crowd

He said he would be there

You did not know he was there you were not well

I just remembered,

your father is dead

I saw him in a dream this morning

He wanted to tell you he would be there

cranes

This is precious, i say. I have my pictures with me. i am piloting down the canal. I am in the water. The rain is misting.we are deep in the mountains. The canyon forest. You see the train cars tied with fancy string. I dig in my journal from last year this time “I dreamed my aunt died and no one told me. we lived underground.by the canal. I dreamed my uncle with a necklace going into the hospital.” You tell me your brother will accept his mother’s home. He is moving today from the streets – living in his car. you talked to him. Coffee. 

i find an enchanted book of children’s paintings. They are mine and yours. A red deer. A plane.

Gerardo tells me not to fight. To listen. The sunrise is un-explainable. terrible city so many homeless.. Birds gathering force. clarity before retractions of fog. . .I dreamed my teachers, arguing, unhappy. I go for it i teach the children the idea of movement. They dance water and playing soccer and raising their hands to the sky. They beat the sky and say the names. the ones who did not make it back to them — across the border. Emily says between open and close there is confusion. He dances in his work boots . Man, this traffic is serious. He dances in his boots just days before the election. there is a white heron. a mattress across the river road in the grass by the building. still. Hunting.

 

 

 

There are people in my life who would rather be consumed by fire than to go on living.

 blackberry trail—  neil. reckless waterholes to keep from jumping into
frothy glacial melt foam water
your daughter
a child’s creek
“Did you come because you knew what I was going through?”
yes
we sit
the side of our backs pushing into each other
————————————-

 

Climbing down

into the river

you will return

i cling to the wall kicking snails into the water

grandmother

is there nothing to offer?

you wait with the question

——————-


 

shoes falling apart in the rain


 

memories and death

fires look different

i don’t know what they tell you

but the fires come here

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