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Val Dering Rojas


When the Morphine Wears Away  ☊

When the morphine wears away
there is a room with a metal door--
it's creaking open secretly
as I sleep.

There is a room with a metal door
that isn’t really a room at all.
As I sleep,
it’s hot as a furnace.

That isn’t really a room at all:
it is a box.
It's hot as a furnace--
bare flame burning.

It is a box
with a rocking chair, rocking,
bare flame burning,
in the corner, a crib.

With a rocking chair, rocking,
motherless and babyless,
in the corner, a crib--
you cannot enter this room.

Motherless and babyless
in the dead quiet of night,
you cannot enter this room
because this door is too small.

In the dead quiet of night,
it's creaking open secretly
because this door is too small
when the morphine wears away.

Recurring Dream

I am alone
standing in a room
where nothing is where it should be
where even the fireplace has moved.

Standing in a room
wondering where my belongings are
where even the fireplace has moved,
now everything the color of skin.

Wondering where my belongings are--
the green chairs, the clock, the cats--
now everything the color of skin:
I remember where I am.

The green chairs, the clock, the cats
in an apartment, in the living room.
I remember where I am
and it’s all backwards.

In an apartment, in the living room
everything has been rearranged
and it’s all backwards.
This isn’t the life we shared.

Everything has been rearranged
where nothing is where it should be,
this isn’t the life we shared,
I am alone.
​
Picture
Picture


Val Dering Rojas' profile

Acceptance

Her mirrored heart--
the betrayal of it
as it says save,
as it says despair.

The betrayal of it
snagging every gobbet
as it says despair
instead of hero.

Snagging every gobbet
with tusk and dagger--
instead of hero,
mortal flesh and rib.

With tusk and dagger
she cracks open
mortal flesh and rib
and spins a tornado.

She cracks open
a magnum of chaos
and spins a tornado
of light and gravity.

A magnum of chaos
on the earth below
of light and gravity--
it’s a mosaic ball.

On the earth below
hope pushes back--
it’s a mosaic ball
slowly accelerating.

Hope pushes back
as it says save,
slowly accelerating
her mirrored heart.

What Euripides Knew

Happiness is brief. It will not stay. God batters at its sails. ~Euripides

A cage is love,
is a mouth that sings
the O in tongue,
of expose,
of now.
Of the color bitten,
of golden wings,
breastbone
breaking
to lay open
what aches.

A cage
of the swollen belly,
of the lover twice left,
of the myth of Gods,
of bindings:
vaulted sky,
surface of sea,
saltwater lips--
mandible unhinged by
silence,  
that bitter stone.

Comments?

***

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