We are in the land of wandering vagabonds
compressed upon each other
disintergrating into the earth
while Jupiter watches on.
We are unstable when our footpaths
lead downward into the gaping mouth
of screeching beasts that snake
underground; only forward momentum.
A current of bodies carrying flint
in pockets, tinder-flame sparks
light the way, a grain of salt
in a concrete land, reaching skyward.
A current of electricity, lighting matches
combustible air, we can only move forward;
the past has already disappeared
down the throats of stark seagulls.
We are in the land of twilight
waiting behind glass for protection
if we do not bend, we break.
Let the waters wash over us.
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.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Wanderings
Bits of dreams stray into my waking day
a woman's voice singing into my ear
that I am neither asleep nor awake
reminds me of weeds creeping past
concrete. I await the cue to speak again.
There are vultures tapping on the door.
Their eyes slide across the edges
of the tempered glass, peeking in,
mouths open wide, like baby birds,
in anticipation. Don't let them in.
Six ravens fly overhead, black wings
against an October sky. I listen to her voice,
against the guitar strings, talking about an
ordinary day as I thread the needle to sew
the tear in the back of my mind.
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.
a woman's voice singing into my ear
that I am neither asleep nor awake
reminds me of weeds creeping past
concrete. I await the cue to speak again.
There are vultures tapping on the door.
Their eyes slide across the edges
of the tempered glass, peeking in,
mouths open wide, like baby birds,
in anticipation. Don't let them in.
Six ravens fly overhead, black wings
against an October sky. I listen to her voice,
against the guitar strings, talking about an
ordinary day as I thread the needle to sew
the tear in the back of my mind.
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.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
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.
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.
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