Weft & Weave

The following is a poem I wrote for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge back in February. Here’s a link to the original page and image that inspired this work:

This is just a single piece. A fragment of imagination as a childish
version remembers it. Patchwork puzzle piece across America where all
highways and blue skies with clouds look suspiciously the same.

Put it together with its brothers and sisters in a grid system of soft
cotton squares, up and down, side to side, neverending lines flowing
into each other can’t tell where one piece starts and the other part ends.

Brown and tan strips of land that is your land. Black asphalt roads from
tattered flaps of fabric mimicking broken infrastructure whose rough edges
can be seen as far as the eye can see but whose dangerous potholes hide in its
inky nature.Yellow threads pushed to the side just barely register as vague
fields of corn and wheat we hardly notice under our feet.

America the beautiful, so wide and spanning the color spectrum
but we only see a piece.

No, Thank You. Not Today, Sir

I went to a poetry workshop a couple of months ago for cabaret poetry. It was a new and fun experience. Here’s the work that resulted from that workshop with pictures of me reading.

You saw me sitting from across the bar through the smoky curtain of your Cuban cigar.
“Mami, pero you’re too pretty to be alone,” you slur. To which I smile and respond, “No, thank you, not today sir.”
Glass slams on the table. “Pero, mami, you haven’t even heard me out.”
Your sweaty brow furrows and lips start to pout.
I lean away for safety, just to be sure. Again, “No, thank you. Not today, sir.”
Your hand comes down on my shoulder that’s bare. “C’mon, mami. Why don’t you play fair?”
I push your hand off, muscles tensed, lips pursed. Through gritted teeth say, “No, thank you. Not today, sir.”

I get up walk past clinking glasses and you grab my wrist. I force you off
with an unexpected twist. Slack-jawed and dumb, you begin to sputter.
I hold myself tall and shout, “No, thank you. Not today, sir!”

Guardian Angels

This is another one from the Supernatural chapbook I’d made for my friend’s birthday. Originally shared here.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear.
To whom his love commits me here…”
—Old children’s prayer

Mom always said angels were watching over me
but with what life dealt me, I found that hard to believe.

Then I found out angels dealt me this life
and I could almost laugh at that irony.

Angels are not guardians; they’re dicks with wings.
Well, except for Cas.

Castiel: fallen from God, and it was for me that he fell
and rebelled. So I guess I got one angel watching over me, Mom.

Carry On Wayward Sons

Originally published on my old writer’s blog here, made for a chapbook for my friend’s birthday.

It starts as far back as Michael and Lucifer, two brothers
whose love drove to the destruction of Heaven and earth.
One loved his Father, and the other adored his brother.
This growing separation led to a road of dissention
where Cain and Abel felt the tear.

The rift left one with an instinct to kill
and the other to be victim. The bond that bound
brother to brother

broke

and cursed the line forever.

Carry on Sam. Carry on Dean.
There will not be peace, because you will never be done.