Sunday, May 30, 2010

Mikel Weisser


After 14 days I took out my garbage
I sprang up
After Magnolia
I saw reality was real once more
I saw the stink I’d cringed under
Could just be carried away

In a bathrobe and boxers
I walked out into midnight
Came back and cried
Wrote to my son and cried
Wrote to a friend and I cried

I slid open the backdoor
Propped open my front
Stepped out of the robe
Let the vertical blinds clatter
Clatter to a roar
Roar like a frog storm
I stood and I shuddered and I cried

Fresh air filled my house
I breathed
And breathed again
I shut the doors and the lights
I sat and I wrote this
And readied for bed
Eager to start my new day

An hour later
I struggle up from covers
And flinch from the lamplight
And still cling and can’t let go
Tomorrow my daylight will shine on disorder
And every missing piece won’t somehow make sense

Like a former stupid genius
I’ll flounder in mundane
And know fact beyond all meaning
And fail to communicate my pain

After Magnolia
Even hours after
I’m still dwarfed beneath its immensity
But at least all my garbage is gone

Monday, May 3, 2010

Helen Graziano


Campesinos all -- love the dust of Mexico
I’m a Cuernevaca, Guanajuato kid

There’s magic in the dust of Mexico
A cantina open in a rainstorm
Saying welcome bienvenidos
Mas tequila por favor--
Mariachis sing about wondrous Madrid
the Man descends into the bullring
Ole! Ole! The women rant then faint
When bull is gored
The corrida-- at 4 in the afternoon.

“Non se puede vivir sin amar”
One cannot live without love
Love in the time of Cholera, unrequited
Torrid tempestuous Don Juan
Ultima seductions--696
But when the body is unable? What then?

There’s magic in the dust of Mexico
Tramping into Santo Tomas winery
Sampling mescal and chardonnay
Hoofing to La Bufadora the water spouting
like old faithful, spuming, gushing
a towering column, between the rocks
wet spray on tourists

Pueblo blankets and horses run on the beach
Michelin tires stacked in roadside dust
La dia de los muertes, The day of the dead
The devil comes out of hiding
and the skulls dance

Where is salvation?
Beggars with turquoise rings, abalone shells for earrings
There’s Jose and Jaime and Pablo, campesinos all.
Aye Aye O rancho grande
Sangria flows from bota bags
Ole! I shout! My spirit is willing