Poetry – “Land”

 

footprints

 

Land // by Jennifer Patino

 

Unsteady legs know
the way through that house

The body holds the memory
of the pathway, & clumsy feet follow

They were made for dancing,
she was told, but in dream

and only in dream
can all these faces feel so foreign

The eyes that once knew her,
now cold where fire used to blaze

She grew wings out of wounds,
flew to the desert, with its magnetic pulse,

its endless sorrows, its waiting, its desiccation,
its sharper sun, its different shades of pain,

its healing, its secrets —ones for the hidden—
its ability to shield her, protect her

It is hers now, in a way, though she’ll never
claim any piece of anything the same way

ever again, but none of it matters anymore
because her legs can never rest,

though she is still, she is running,
dancing, forever on guard to take flight

from this house, like that house, until
she finds a home to land in

 

 

Poetry – “Twilight Moths”

 

twilightmoth

 

 

Twilight Moths // by Jennifer Patino

 

From the quiet of my corner,
I watch the twilight moths gather,

their feather light humming
draws the full moon closer

I see through a needle’s eye,
the ash grey craters,

thumbprints of Creator,
and I think of my Grandmothers,

Moon up above,
and my earthly one in Spirit

whose gossamer wings now dance
in the fireflies’ glow

Her wisdom floats on the desert breeze,
and I breathe in shaky, and deep

because now I know, for one moment,
that oneness is near

Then the night birds call
the angels home, and the

celestial spectacle before me clears,
and succumbing to lunar mysteries,

the dusk moths silently
disappear as the stars listlessly fall

 

 

Poetry – “Night”

 

night

 

Night // by Jennifer Patino

 

Night spreads across the sky
like a bruise,
so many shades of plum

& soon,
darkness hides the hurt,
& cicadas mask the crying

Another day
swallowed by midnight blue
& stone pits now litter the floor,

a monsoon of new fruit
opening the doors to dying stars,
rejuvenating in bitter juice

before dawn opens weighted eyes
to see the garden dream’s demise
& so many rotting cores fading to yellow

 

 

Poetry – “There Are Still”

 

siren

 

 

There Are Still // by Jennifer Patino

 

six more days here and roiling stomachs
already match the sea           making love
to the rhythm of siren song and we are
bound for rocky ground the same as

the sailors in alleyways who prowl for
fish women with golden gills and eyes
the color of the horizon at summer sun-
set                                       eyes that signal

luminous lighthouses guiding loneliness
home        we have nothing good waiting
for us        only our deep ocean secrets to
be buried while they are still heavy enough

to hold a flopping, fighting creature down
only for the worst of us to resurface after
so long               there are still underwater
plots left so pick your corner and play the

maritime tunes that will undoubtedly tune
out any mermaid melodies that should es-
cape                               there are still heroes
somewhere, busy slashing out the last days

 

 

#FlashbackFriday – Poetry – “The Gale”

 

drops

 

 

The Gale // by Jennifer Patino

 

This rainstorm looks like a gale,

and I’m on the deck of my ship

staring out into all of the grey-ness,

but I remain dry on my covered front porch,

taking in the anger of the town

 

There is a hint of drug use in this town

 

A car cuts another off and I hear furious honking,

so I’m wondering what the purpose behind “laying on the horn” is,

I’m remembering how I once succumbed to its

passive aggressive nonsense in a near-death experience

a careless driver caused me to have

 

A couple starts fighting in the parking lot

of the convenience store across the street

just to prove my point,

that anger is the electricity keeping this place running

 

I start thinking about walking around

in the rain with my childhood friends,

I had a fear of manhole covers,

I never walked over them,

Sewers, we called them

 

Why?” one of them asked me,

He always thought he was so smart,

and I said, shyly and awkwardly,

Well, I uh…– heard there was sparkling electricity down there that might…

There’s just water! Water and electricity don’t mix! The whole world would blow up!

I accepted it

 

Now, at 27 I stare at the power lines dripping with water,

and the world is slowly blowing up

 

Maybe there is electricity running beneath us

and not quite enough water to put out our own fires,

so that’s why I prefer to keep my ship docked these days,

safe in the harbor,

for sea-worthy, I am not

 

August 25, 2010

 

 

2 Poems – “Over” & “Annabeth Gish”

 

antipasto

 

Over

steaming cauliflower gnocchi
I tell you I often dream of dying

lava red sauce bubbles, bursts
like the brink of my tears

when you aren’t home
& I whine in every room of the house

where I lay, confined
by post traumatic tendencies

you smile, & tell me that happiness
is a surprise tray of Italian delicacies

with my name on it, & that if I were
dead, all this would go to waste

you’re gesturing at the food, at yourself,
& I understand, I picture you

eating alone & feel sadder,
so I take your hands & kiss them,

I thank you for my sustenance
& my very reason for breath

 

*****

 

Annabeth Gish

& her too cute baby fat,
Lili Taylor’s dangling too-big earrings,
& Julia Roberts’ hair falling flat

make me think of extra toppings,
& layers, & pre-close mopping
at the food court where last minute
medium town folk continue their shopping

Of brunette friends, sisterhood, & loss,
of innocence, & my creepy boss,
& of bloodstains mistaken for pizza sauce

Even the old classic movies
seem filmed for me,
stirring up my metaphysical memories

 

(Inspired by ‘Mystic Pizza’)

 

– Jennifer Patino

 

Two poems inspired by food & movies. I felt the need to use the word ‘sauce’ a lot in my writings this day, apparently. It showed up in a few other drafts as well. 🙂

 

 

 

Prose – “Floor”

 

wall

 

Floor // by Jennifer Patino

 

I’d be lying if I said I were comfortable. Someone once said, “You wear pajamas all day, how can you not be comfortable?” Another said, “You’re at home in your room, how are you not comfortable?” My hooded sweatshirt is comfortable. I make sure to wash it correctly so all of its warm fuzziness will stick around for awhile. I love those hospital socks with the skid resistant patches on the bottoms. If I have to run from something, I won’t fall upon the linoleum.

I like pressing my face to that cool, sticky surface when I have a migraine. I turn the lights off, & pray the pain away. I like rubbing my cheek after I fall asleep. I feel the lines & indents coinciding with wherever I’ve finally been able to capture a small reprieve. A cat nap. I hate cats.

There is no being comfortable when your skin doesn’t fit you. There is no being comfortable in a body convinced it has been dying for the past decade. There is no being comfortable when you’re so full after swallowing nothing. There is no being comfortable when you’re constantly hungry, but your belly, your abdomen, & your insides always feel so swollen & full.

I’d be lying if I said there were still good days. I’d be lying if I told you I just liked changing my trash cans daily. That it has nothing to do with the vomiting. It has nothing to do with the gagging. It has nothing to do with how my throat feels like it wants to expel my kidneys from me, but that won’t happen. It will, however, keep constricting & trying. I can feel my organs twisting within me. Pulsing like a planet with foreign invaders. They burst, & alien bodies enter my bloodstream. I cater to a whole galaxy, & they exist only to feed upon me.

Drinking water takes willpower. Leaving the bed is a little miracle. My face is pressed to the floor in defeat. I am conquered today. I pray for sleep.