Mary Grace Guevara
Ode to an Avocado
dressed with lemon,
garlic, olive oil & mustard- a chef's delight but i like you best bare sliced open under rough snake skin velvet ripe & creamy belly drizzled with sugar & cold milk, bowled dessert of indolent summer days plump smooth, slivers of ambrosia your taste is only rivaled by my other childhood memory- cloistered nuns making candied purple yams stirring over & over flaming giant pan until rough fibers turn sin- fully lush as nectar oil decadent food for gods hand-bottled for sale in market - pear-shaped your green womb wraps me tight like seed coconut-shaped pining for tropical sun-- Inside//Outside my Head
This poem lives outside my head
It strikes at the edges & wallows in unfinished business, cusps & in between, backspaces & deleted words It enjoys rowdy street crowds and music blaring from the young man tapping his fingers on keyboards as if he's in a concert instead of subway stop Sometimes it jogs early morning alone in the beach or park, lost in its verses unmindful of time, who comes nosing close like an eager puppy waiting for a treat Some nights, it sips margarita & refuses to rhyme, preferring to tango & sway to hot salsa music & restless feet, until shoes & restraint are forgotten in the mix It collects broken & forgotten things as if they are treasures instead of junk During winter, it presses its cheeks against my shivering bones, croaking 'Here's the kerosene, light that fire!’
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The aftermath
the night drowned
blue, silver and black ash under quartered moon honey-sipped, the waves quickly swelled into a tsunami drained of salt bittersweet like grapefruit sucking tears, words and flesh -- I drifted, swallowed dry by sea -- shattered shell, deranged of memories from your leaving Winter, the birthing
The cold bites
everything to black & white I know the signs: A spire tightens around my neck Knotted of flowers, black narcissus In darkening sky wind stings like a bee Your absence dear one is harder than melting snow salt-christened, blue teardrop At night I lean on your words - womb, flint, amber & burn & burn A Tribute to Nelson Mandella
Do not stand by my grave & grieve
I'm not here, wrapped in leopard skin I am where the wind blows cruelest So my words will scatter like grains Ripening land of corn & fruits Do not stand by my grave & grieve I'm not here, draped in flag honors I am where the night reigns darkest Burning candles beacon for peace After slaughtering the ox, feast Do not stand by my grave & grieve I'm not here, blessed in holy water I am where sky blues grass field And sun browns our faces with joy Sing & dance in celebration Do not stand by my grave & grieve |
