My Father On That Ladder

My father is up there, on that ladder
smoothing, the underside of the deck,
rusty metal, with sandpaper in circular
strokes, his face peppered with red bits.

He dangles in odd angles, holding on
to beams for support, precarious balance
of feet and faith sharpen beneath his breath
as he talks to himself about what part next.

My father is up there, on that ladder
scraping the sky, protecting the rest
of us from weakened metal and devotion
as he prays to himself about what’s next after.

He dangles in odd angles, holding on
to keep the sky from falling upon us
as he primes the metals and coats the
rust with paint and worship-words.

My father is up there, on that ladder
holding up the sky for us, a precarious
balance of feet and faith and whispering-
devotion, clinging to mortal angles.

08.18.09

All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.

Flowering Temperment

I.
A chaos of nettle and weeds
chokes the garden
tightens the earth

II.
A prickly nettle clears
her throat when she
announces her scream

III.
A spindly nettle obstructs
the view tamping down and
holds the house hostage

IV.
A nettle attached to a linen
skirt tangles her up and trips
her down in consecutive order

V.
Nettles and weeds blossom
whilst impulses flower
and burn in sequential order


All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.

Masa

she moves so fast she is motionless
--Ilya Kaminsky

The hum-lull of a quiet house in a cool morning hour,
Mami lies in the maca, in the backyard, hums a ballad,
her legs dangle off just enough to keep her swinging.

“Which song is that?” “I don’t remember”
the notes hang in the air between us
like a held breath: Mami hums

yes here, as in childhood,
she never strays too far from her life
a long day from yesterday she made

tortillas from scratch, working the masa with her hands,
rolling balls of dough, flattening them with the press
between two circles of Wonder bread plastic

heating them up on a flat skillet with bare fingers until
they puff up, hot air billowing out and softening
between the dishtowels. I draw a line between the melody

She untangles tomatoes from their vines, rinses
them off with water and takes a gaping bite
to see her, over sixty, humming a long-forgotten

love song, Mami who keeps Spanish on her tongue
and English in her pockets for safekeeping.


All artwork, photos, and text © Copyright 2008-2009 Liliana Almendarez unless indicated otherwise. All Rights Reserved. Any downloading, copying or use of images on this website is strictly prohibited without express written consent by Liliana Almendarez.