What’s wrong with gaps and odd corners?

At night Petra wanders around a sleeping
house looking for a corner to fill. She lights
candles and considers poems on dark pages.

She does not pray to her father’s god.
They have not been on speaking terms
for quite some time now, her mouth is empty.

Stuck between a screen and a door, a narrow gap.
She stands in the middle ground encased behind
glass, the door is locked and no one is awake.

Her humid summer leaves bedclothes damp
against her skin. She sings to herself
but the song leaves bitter drops on her tongue.

She stands eating cold cherries out
of a bowl and cracks a tooth on a stray pit.
An avocado seed splits open exposing tender leaves.

The night peels her skin back and her bookmark
has pressed a reminder space upon the page,
better than dog-eared corners and an empty grave.



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.

Coins and Stones

You are careless with your eyes
and speak without candor.

You hide apples beneath your pillows
only to taste sour vowels on your lips.

Beneath your bed is a garden of smooth
rocks to weigh you down when you sleep.

Beneath your tongue is a coin
you dare not swallow and choke.

You are biting the edges of your hands
the teeth marks remind you of your childhood.

Your vowels are stuck around a staccato sound
but you can’t find the right word around your next line.

You have one song that you hum pieces of all day.
You have one song where you know only

the words of the chorus and sing the same two
lines over and over again.

You are careless with your words
and hide your eyes when you’re ruthless.

You invert your notebooks to shift
your perspective. You pretend it matters.

You count the coins in the glass jar
to remind you of your value.

You empty the coin jar and leave feeling hollow.
You pretend it doesn’t matter.

Beneath your bed the stones have turned to sand.
Beneath your tongue the song has turned sour.



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.

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.