Poem – “Useless”

womb

 

Useless // by Jennifer Patino

 

There’s a lot I know I’ll never have the heart to say. That phrase doesn’t make much sense to me. “I don’t have the heart…” It’s always said before something terrible. If one indeed had a heart, wouldn’t they feel no need to commit such deeds,

that would warrant a hard heart, a lack there of,
some terrible need?

There’s a lot I let lie there, be it as it may. I let some things rot. Reek of decay. Eventually dust, bones, a stain. There’s a lot you can cover up if you finish before it rains. The Earth sees all secrets.

Will you search blindly, through every pile of fresh
new dirt, with an edge that finally doesn’t hurt?

There’s a lot that can grow from the infertile. Anger. Loss of what you never had in the first place. Silly little girl, there’s stones inside your sacred space. Wipe the hope from your face. It’s in–

–the way we go about this is pretend we don’t want it
in the first place,–

my way. A quiet day. A lot can die in a short time with

No sunlight.
No legacies. No grace.
No little socks with lace.

There’s a lot I know I won’t let my own mouth say. It makes perfect sense to me. “I have some bad parts…” I know I have a heart because it struggles against feeling useless. Useless longings. Useless woman. It’s useless to repeat the things that shred me. I’m already torn apart.

 

 

Poem – “It Washes Away”

rain

 

It Washes Away // by Jennifer Patino

 

What would we talk of, if we were
suddenly unashamed
of what we say
to our faces
in the ceiling
formed by rain spots
from our leaking roof?

How damp is this room?
Underground, like the
basements up north, cold
catacombs, no windows,
or low windows,
imagining walking
in the shoes of passerby

Will we see through
the hole to the sky
through different eyes?
The one that forms
over the passing of
that non existent
cage called time

What would we hear
in the silence that
comes after the dawn
of the new year?
The rain?: a foreign sound,
drying up before it hits
the ground, way down here

 

 

Poem – “Umbilical”

wanderer

 

Umbilical // by Jennifer Patino

 

Refrain from slurred speech,
its wispy timbre is upsetting

While you’re aiding and abetting
all that makes me nauseous

Sitting in the corner, a silent stone
of a mother, a slab of skin and bone

I wanted to be fine in the silence,
walking in the darkness of truth alone

But a longing tugs at heart strings,
music buried in my marrow, out of my control

An uprising in my bloodstream,
begging to retrieve everything you stole

So I run far away, following the wind to the west
with the end of your last fraying seam

clutched in my childlike fingers