Pike's Peak and Down

Bump, bump jiggle

bump, the tightness in

my ear drum

reminds me of how high

we are on this

Colorado mountain road

food tumbling around

my tummy

girlfriend at the wheel

doin' a fine job of

getting us through the

red rock,

the hard rain

and smoky grey clouds

that surround my little 'ol

body a tremblin' in

both excitement and fear

Yikes, the feel of a Pike's Peak

trek on the way down

as she shifts down from 2d

to first and we gaze yonder

into waves and waves of

clouds and mist

and eerie but fantastically

majestic hues

that tell you the hand of the goddess

has been here and is gently guiding

you down

Rumble rumble on a sharp curve

over red dirt and gravel

a wide view over flat

plains, snow capped

distant ranges, pale blue lakes

and a giant's playground

of rusty pebbles

Trust is the growing feeling

as I descend and in awesome wonder

and delight

take in the highs and the lows

hoping to grasp with an artist's sight

one more curve

another 10,000 pines

a flash of lightning miles away

and the comforting signs

of being just a few more

miles

a few hundred yards

and a few more feet

from the bottom

and The End.

8/14/95 -Colorado

Glamour

I love glamourous women
painted lips
pearls
low cut dresses
black silk
thin gold bracelets
and really simple earrings
a hint of an expensive cologne
soft curls
and a rich red velvet sofa to sit on
no reason to give
for imagining the
elegance of a woman
and her cat
fluffy and warm
on a Sunday afternoon
enjoying a poem
and eating a box of chocolates.
Care to join?

FIVE CAPE COD POEMS

(1) BEACH

The mainland
is but a smear
of flattened grey blue paint on
the horizon
as fishing boats
head north in search
of lobster pots
and in safe distance
of shipwrecking
hidden sandbars

Gentle waves climb and dance
upon a strand of charcoal like
and mossy boulders
the wind is making
an angrier sea today
than yesterday's mellow calm
when fishermen waited
for the tide's turn in hopes
of a decent catch of
striped bass or herring

Seven colors of pebbles surround
my feet on the beach today
which I can see was visited
much earlier by a morning stroller
I am in no place to meet those
icy and tempestuous waters
into which the seagulls dive so easily
in search of swimming prey
I would rather keep warm
in the sand and toss grains
and pebbles and bury
or mourn the red and black ladybug
lying next to a rusty orange pebble
who must have met an untimely
death last night on
this Cape Cod shore.
@May 1999


(2) STUBBORN AND ON VACATION

While I spent three days
working on a writing
I did not think twice
about the essay that was due
last month
Ahhh...
how wonderful this seascape feels
and how powerful its effects
on my mind and my body because
though I could have worked
on that essay
I do not feel an ounce of guilt
for waiting and putting off
a task
that is far less important
or urgent than
embracing my stubborm
spirit's voracious appetite
for these ocean sounds
and pebbled beaches
which I must leave
with longing and sadness
after today.

(3) SAND AND SKY AND MORE


I know you cannot hear it
but just imagine the melancholy
horn sounding in the distance
in tempo
and throughout the evening
until morning
Now see in your mind's eye
a faraway sailing ship
with a white hull and long
masts and other gear for
hauling in mass quantities
of lobster, fish, mussels and clams
and place that smooth sailing boat
on a Cape Cod blue of ocean
with a seagull
calling out in a mile high sky
of white clouds
and seat yourself
in this mindful photo
on white and tan grainy sands
and now open your arms
to the new day
awakened
to whatever comes forth
as a means to express
how happy you are here.

(4) CAPED HISTORY

Cross legged and sitting on
moist sands
like an Indian Chief
about to smoke the peace pipe
she looked out wistfully
at the lonely waters of the sea
and believed she heard the
ancient cries of the
three thousand or more
ships wrecked upon these
New England ocean doors
and she imagined
men
and women lost in the night
and praying final words
in Puritan faith
and wondered why
the difference in centuries
cannot change the rhythm
of the waves on a Sunday then
or now
when the sky is a happy blue
and terns and seagulls enjoy
a veritable feast of
hunting game
and she wondered if the pebbles
strewn about her near and far
might contain some of the very rocks
once tossed against these battered boats
by an angry goddess of the earth
waiting in suspense for the arrival
of these witless invaders of
native and indigenous lands.


(5) SALT MARSH

Low tide
blue and even
deeper blue
In the distance
a light house
and quiet
in the seagrasses as white sands
surface and the high morning sky
lengthens
like arms outstretched
appear the welcoming
yellow and tan sandbars
for curious feet
and webbed predators for the tiny
crabs, mussel and snails
Fox and heron, raccoons
sea rat and clams
old and new
grasses of brilliant springtime hues
mosses of a deeper sheen
and rocks painted
black in a drying greyish green
wetness upon which
gulls
and ducks
may land and observe
a new day
on the salt marsh.

The Flood

(based on hearing of events in Ciudad Acuña, Mexico)

He was probably just
7, 8 or 9
leaving his work of bagging
groceries and pushing carts
much too late
with a few tips in his pocket
maybe for a mother
or a little sister
or brother
a contribution to the
meager household funds
for food or clothing
or the toys father
could not buy
and one day it rained
much too hard
and the path home
in this colonia
at the Mexican border
flooded

and in his tiredness
at 11 pm or so
his judgment and
that of his two companions
was overwhelmed

and they thought they could swim
across the bridge
and maybe they held
each other's hands
but then they could not
and someone let go
because the exhaustion from

the day's work of pushing carts

carrying groceries to cars

was too much

for the small thin arms

in a white shirt

and uniform blue pants

and the torrential gushing water

too strong
and little fingers unlocked

and separated
the boys
the little workers
let go into the cold waters'
embrace
into the doorway out of
a short lived life of struggle
observed daily by
the shoppers' eyes
blinded to their plight
by their accustomed
indifference.

@Fall 2000

The friendly pies

They didn't really know each
other yet
they chatted about their pasts
and laughed
and ate lemon
pecan
and pumpkin pie
and in the talking asked
and answered more questions
in between gulps
laughing or asking more
about life's whens or whys
and about how to eat favorite pies
and dishes circled

the snug dining room

slices of pie

slices of life

making friends

and as I swirled
the flavors
on my tongue
I remembered
at the end of the feast
that it was a Friday night

the weekend's beginning
a very good night

to meet

greet

and eat

unforgettably

delicious pie.

Conceptual Thoughts

I swish inside her full belly
and hear the sounds of
my drinking father
and her crying in the
middle of the night
we have committed a grave sin
the three of us
in the eyes of a strong
yet impatient Abuela
Como es que lo haz
hecho otra vez?
How is it that you once
again have given
your passion to a man
who cannot possibly
take good care of you
and your already fatherless
three daughters?
I hear the words and do
not understand
them
but I know the sensation
of tension
(her belly tightens)
and fear
(I suffocate and reach
for a deeper corner
of my little house)
and suddenly
the tension ends
the loud angry
grandmother
has slammed the door
and taken away
my sisters
and now it is just
the three of us
Daddy has
driven us to Arizona
Mommy is now
married
I swish happily
waiting to push out
of her canal
and look
into the eyes of
my nervous
but happy Mama.

Against Isolation

The clock ticks
the music flows
the candle burn
the cat sleeps
hand on my chin
as I
contemplate
another day of not
really knowing
what the hell I'm supposed
to be doing as
a "grateful servant"
today
and being willing
to do it anyway
scooping out
as much love
as I can find for myself
in this lonely heart.

@2000

Two Candles

Flame rising
are you my anger
and frustration
over not getting a job today
or are you the symbol of my
prayer for wisdom and clarity
about the next stop to take?
Trembling flame next to it
are you the candle that
burns my fears away
this morning as I
sit here resisting life on life's terms
pretending that I am patient and wise
and clear
and seeing instead
how stuck I am in my attitudes
of despair, disgust
and indifference?

Burn candles
burn away
my disappointments
my fears
and my desperate
attempts to predict the
unfolding of this short life
this flaming rocket of
female essence
aging passion
loving humanity
that I am.


@2000

Euthanasia

Whether a noose
or a pill
or a shot
or the cancer
itself
in the thinking
about killing
my very sick kittycat
I am dying
inside.

Headstone

Sitting with legs crunched
in an armchair
apple of my eye
over by the table
my pen and me
thinking together
sadness evoked
by the sunny weather
because behind the curtain
after she took her last breath
there also shone a brilliant desert sun
and I knew not how to comfort
myself
or the child in me
and gosh
I hate memories
that are locked
in the cool breezeway of
contemplation
that if I just rub my hand against
the cold cement I can pick up the
fading imprint of a chapter of my life
when I helped close Her Book of Life
and began to think seriously
about writing mine.
@4/2001

At the End

[on Jane and Betsy]

The woman with cancer

opened the door

for me

we greeted each other

and I thought and said

"you must be Jane"

and I asked for the caretaker

of the woman who is dying of cancer

the one leaving huge teardrops

wherever she stands

feeling the passion and love

they have shared

and the days left

with each other

and the presence

of Death between

their sheets at night

and the caretaker

of the woman with cancer

managed a small laugh

and ate a little

so much more

in her anxious state

than her patient

who had not eaten

in two weeks

and Death hovered

nearby

hanging in the air

draping the garden pots

and the hanging planters

like lanterns below

the canopy of trees

in a space of greenery

and color they had

arranged and loved

together

and the Love in the house

and the anticipated moment

of the last goodbye

filled every corner

and shelf

but the friendly

chatter of this

one afternoon held off

the scorching heat

that made it a chore to play

and wilted the breath

of a cancerous woman's

dying day.

@ Austin 8/11/00

Morning Opera

Head on my pillow
felt heavy with
an Italian opera
going full blast
in my sleep
in it I am a crazed
alcoholic mean old man
calling out for
peace of mind
from a window
The dream seer

would say

You are Him

He is You

and we understood

each other's
complaint
both

insane
both

in pain
and then poof!
I am awakened
operatic words
not sung not spoken
the tenor
residing in my head
my dreams
my pillow
rent free
We took a break
and it felt good
going to the opera
such a good time

and I didn't have to spend
a dime.

Mama in the Sound of Spirit

Ma
Mom
Mamma
I hear you
calling my
Name

I am fine
I am sewing clouds now
and making blankets of rainbows
I am running through the woods
I always wanted to see

I ride elephants
and hear the music in the rain
I curl up under the wings of eagles
and ducks and the lumbering
joy of mountain bears.
I am right beside you
whispering your name
reminding you of
the love we learned to share

And your abuela
she is here too
we have mountains for couches
and trees with which
to stir the paints for brilliant skies

Do you remember my singing?
Open the windows during those
Southern storms and listen carefully
for the sweet harmony weaving itself
on a symphony
of torrential rains

Don't be afraid
of those gray skies
they're the curtains
of an awesome
performance for gods
and queens

Do not cry
sweet daughter
I am here
dancing on the waves
of an ocean of love for you
hearing your prayers
and offering you hope

stand up
child of sadness
and wipe your tears
and embrace your Mama
tu madre
tu Lucita
the light in your eyes
the idea in your head
the friend in your moments
of passion for making the world
a little happier
and its troubles soothed slowly
in the wealth of the goddess's
love and light.

@10/1998, Austin, Texas

Gate Number Wait

The man with the hat
waved goodbye
at the gate
the friend looked over
and realized all the planes were
delayed because
of air traffic and snow

calling it a day in a
comfortable place she could call
home
would come
very late

the fretting attendants
offered vouchers
and comfort
as they exchanged quick glances
and a few worried people settled
in for a long wait, naps
and glanced once more
at their watches
pulled out their books
to read
checkbooks to balance
phones to dial
and messages that could
be charged at half the rate

the pacing continued
and so did the snow and the rain
mindless chatter filled the room
the din of the heaters took away
some of the gloom
it was another day of travel
in the northeast
and another trip of no great
waste
as we all contemplated
the delayed flight we had
run for in cabs, trains and limos
with such
incredible haste.

@NYC-pre-9-11

Poeta Enamorada

Las palabras
que oí por la
primera vez
en mi vida
llenas de cariño
fueron en este dulce
idioma
el Español
Pero las palabras
que te dirigí
cuando por
primera vez
pude decirte
con toda mi mente
corazon y alma
"te quiero"
fueron en este dulce
idioma
que es la música
del amor

Siento no se qué

confundida
y cansada
de tanto arreglar
nunca podiendo
ver el camino
en frente de mí
nunca sabiendo
si estoy haciendo
lo que se requiere de mí

Lloro

Le pego a las páginas
con mi pluma
me jalo el cabello
gritos y llanto fuertes
se escapan de mi garganta
como tigres y leonas
escapándose de la jaula
con hambre
y coraje

Siento poco
siento demasiado
y te pregunto
por qué no me
das la mano
y me llevas
cubierta bajo tu mirada
y buena protección?

Porque no me dejas oir to voz
en esta noche larga que es mi
duda y falta de fé?

@Austin, Tejas 2009

Buddha's Pearls

He sits in peaceful meditation

something I have a hard time doing

He wears glittery beads

from a parade

and two candles in purple vases

flicker in front of him day or night

The Buddha's pearls belong to a mother

now gone who left

behind a daughter

who does not know

the Buddha but

tries to live like the Buddha

wearing pearls and seeking

peace in the soft shimmer of a

strand of beads each one like

a mark of time

at rest and yet alive

at once.

@Austin, TX July 2009

Yellow Page

The skin has weathered

on this right hand

where the veins hold a river

of the blood of my ancestors

incense fills the air

and on the waves of a smokey carpet

I travel in time

to the clink clink and sharp

aroma curling a path from

an incense holder

to the altar

dedicated to a lady in blue

surrounded by a

halo of stars

dots of light

streaming down

like from a strand of Christmas lights

a faint memory of my teen years

inside the nunnery school

where life was so simple

obey

sometimes rebel

be cared by substitute

mothers, teachers

in black and white

the wives of the Christ

I longed to embrace

and be like at once

The skin on my face

has weathered

leaving a half smile

etched on this older face

tentatively looking into

the foggy distant future

of my own life

The skin like

this yellow paper

is

weathered but still here

use-able

and kind.

Austin, TX July 2009

WTC Ashes in the Air

I am the dust in the air

the fallen ashes

in the wind

after a terrible disaster

I am joined in my heart and sorrow

with the souls whose bodies

shattered instantly

in a huge ball of exploding flame

I am in the tears and the fears that engulfed us all

as those towers came tumbling down

I am in the ashes that are our collective grief

I am in the hope that must follow

that we will learn a lesson of compassion and that wise decisions

that are capable of generating peace

will come forth from

the structures of power

that remained standing

I am alone today in my sorrow

my pain

and my desire to comfort the children

the families

the neighbors and friends

But I am with the

ashes that flew in the air

as we all stared

and released our hatred

and our fear

I am not happy

to sit here feeling

like I have nothing to do to help

But I am after all only one of millions

who was lucky not to be a victim

in this disastrous day that

has stopped us in our tracks

and forced us to see the thinness

of the wall between walking

on the solid earth one moment and flying

into the next to another life

as windswept

ashes in the air.

Chicago, September 12, 2001

Drip and Fold

Drip goes the faucet

in the kitchen

the roar of crashing waves

on a shore recorded

for this weathered

tape I play as

I drip drip tears of

longing for the company of

friends

anyone

beyond the placid

indifferent cat

stony books

laundry to wash

to caress and fold

as if hugging a starched

lover's shirt

might fill

a sky's scrape for love

lunging forth

from a hungry soul.

Belly Up

Fat and content

and yet bemused

by the goddesses ways

with me

she laughs when I cry

I cry when I laugh

I live these days moment to moment

measuring it seems with

the number of times

I breathe to relax

the last stages of

my anxious youth

moving into my middle age

belly up

and somedays feeling

fat and content.

@Elvia Arriola

Missing

When kitty is sleeping I can hear her

gentle wheezing

the legacy of a long ago

bout with a vet's

overdose of anesthesia

and I wonder how it is she

can lay there so peacefully,

this odd cat of mine

as I sit over her with a

disturbed peace

because I've not heard from you yet

and because this morning I didn't

want to let you go.

@Elvia Arriola

Away in Love

I sit in a hotel room in Chicago

staring at three burning candles

wondering if you sense

this yearn for your touch as you follow

the endless stretch of highway

to the south

away from the deepest blue lake

the flat plains

and back to Southern dusty roads

away from the icy blast of wind

swirling through narrow alleys

chopping away at tall glass buildings

unable to break the

window I peer through

with my tear filled sight

wrapped in a burning

desire to hold you

once again

in the full embrace

of love.

Big City Working Girl

The day is over
my head hurts
I ache all over
and my foot is sore
I want more money
I need some love
can't want to get
my lover's hugs
thank god it's friday
I'm rich with health
this subway stinks
those guys preach hell
I'm on my way to get
some treatment
the doctor says
I will get well
It's friday night
I'm tired and hungry
I need some lovin'
I need some hugs
my honey bear
is not here now
it's time to put
my pencil down
it's time to go

Goodbye
for now.

@Elvia Arriola (NYC 1988)

Caldo de Pollo (chicken soup)

Mom died 11 months ago today

I missed her when I smelled chicken soup
in the nursery this morning

I found it so odd
thought
Mom was stirring up
that pollo in the sky
and held a spoonful to my nose
to say
remember my sopa de arroz ?
I do Mom
and I just ate a lunch
that does no justice
to the flavors you jazzed
up in minutes
when you danced on your feet
waiting for someone
to come home and taste
your marvelous
simply fabulous
cooking

Oh yes Mom
I miss you
and your cooking with garlic
and your messy kitchens
and the smell
of that
chicken soup
that could blanket me
with love
Mexican style
Mama Lucy style
with just a whiff
of warm air-oma
beneath my hungry nose
pointing down to my
starving belly
about to fill
my famished heart.

@Elvia R Arriola 3/18/99

Coats and my Cat

The closet is almost
empty
three hangers
three coats
one for the heavy rain
or snow
one for the bitterly cold
one for the spring
the red one evokes
memories of the
bloody drip from Rachel's
cancerous mouth
in her dying days
The purple one the sense of passion I
do have at times for my work
and also for the rage I feel
for what happened this term
the black is a comforting color
for me it is the sign of elegance
and contrasts against diamonds
and cold
star studded nights
and it will always remind me of
my trip to Chicago and
my four months stay
in an elegant section of town
and living at the Elms Hotel
and making a new friend named Barbara
who understood my pain over
learning that my
fifteen year old furry friend
is dying of cancer
and so the black coat
will symbolize her death
and I'll cherish the
white hairs on it
I couldn't take off with the
lint roller to look nice to go to work
because they will be hers
and just a little of what's left
behind
when she heads for kitty heaven
and I hang up the memories
of our last stay together in
a tiny apartment the size of
a closet
with coats of many colors
seasons
and reasons
for being alive
and not.

@Elvia R. Arriola (2000).

Empty Headed

Empty Head
got out of bed
I was wearing it
and the dust from
the dreams I kicked
up during the night
if anyone had registered
my REMS I'll bet
they'd have been 100 miles
a minute

empty head packed up the bed
and left behind the memories
of a short visit
my empty bed was full of dreams
my heart is full of wishes
the empty pages of this book
will not tell me
why I feel so listless
so empty thoughts
and empty hearts
and empty heads
at the end of
a term of some very hard knocks
But it's OK
I don't have to
figure it all out today
I'll just take my hand
from the chin of this empty head
and then place it on my heart
and smile at the way
I came to the
end
when I hadn't a clue
with what
words I was
going to start!

@Elvia R. Arriola (2000)

Yoga Nerd

I am teased often
because I love yoga
and believe it is a good
answer to many a problem
and I think how
sweet that I know yoga
still
and do yoga yet
but not daily
nor often enough
but should never forget
the day we met
and I fell in love
with a practice for finding peace
union and serenity
for my aching for love
for hungry
yearning for hugs
lumpy body soul
and restless
cluttered mind!
@Elvia R. Arriola (2000)

Smiling Blue

Smiling Blue 

Blue jeans
and blueberry pancakes
and coffee in a blue mug
I write these words
from a blue pen
remembering the blue in
the French rooms and
French dreams of last night's movie
and the edges of the plate holding
syrup and butter and smooth
rich cream
are also a pretty
colonial blue
and I have come to the
fourth day
of my return visit
to the City of blues
without too much fear
and less time for indecision
embracing a rainy
grey Saturday
enjoying the many blues
without being blue
yet hoping for a
sunny blue sky
to end this
tiny vacation!

@Elvia Arriola (2001)

Walking Meditation

My praying seems false
when all I do is beg the goddess for
an answer
I imagine her hearing me
like a child tugging at
Abuelita's apron
"Dame por favor"
(gimme gimme please)
Not willing
to take the time
in sincere reflection
to do an internal
genuflection
with humbled eyes
and a smile of affection
for all the ways
I feel la Diosa's
protection
in constant positive
people connection
and taking trains and planes
and going in the
right direction
in parks I walked
lined with massive
cathedral like sycamore trees
robins and woodpeckers
telling me it is
spring
and a season of growth
and love
and finally getting over my
graying
somber
and wintry
depression.

@Elvia Arriola (2000)

Blind Faith

When I was young
it was important to show
my faith by not wearing makeup or lipstick
to Church
putting on a veil over my head
not chewing the Communion host that contained
"the BODY of Jesus"
listing weekly in a confessional booth
the venial and mortal sins I'd committed
counting Hail Maries
and our Fathers in my
piggy bank of tickets for
a good seat in heaven
concentrating real hard
during the Rosary and the long long
litany of praises
so I wouldn't fall asleep
being very obedient of
Mom, Dad, and Abuelita
and all the nuns
and Mother Superior
committing to kindness toward
mean classmates or
siblings
not lying
not stealing
not being lazy
and not picking my nose
right before getting in line for
a priestly blessing

I couldn't complain that incense made me woozy
and when I volunteered to help
polish the tall brass candelabras
in my boarding school's chapel
the tiny wrinkled nun so loved me for taking time
out from play with girls whom I didn't like anyway
who flaunted their families' wealth in my
working-class face
I'm sure I was convinced that I was becoming more special
by serving the poor oppressed nun
who had not many teeth
but gave me always a warm and grateful smile
that I was becoming saintly with
my thousands of wipes along the curved
holders of giant Easter candles
with pungent cleaner fluid
turning the dull into golden shine
bright enough for a halo
I loved the silence of the work
the darkened chapel
a safe place for an opportunity
to discover the sanctuary
and privacy of my young
anxious
questioning mind

I dared not share my secret doubt
to anyone
that I just didn't believe all that stuff
about Mary and her son's birth
that I was confused about his dying on the cross
that I wasn't sure the "holy spirit" could inspire
me or not during a pretty hard algebra test
or history lesson

I just did things with some kind of blind faith
that the next day would be the same
or maybe a little different as long
as I didn't spend too much
time in self-reflection.

@Elvia Arriola (2000)

Purple Mat

A purple rubber mat
on the floor
beckons my stiffness
into a yoga space
of self acceptance
a way
to stretch myself
into a disposition of
thanks for
today
This morning
I sit near an open
window
Chicago's spring air
to my mind colder
than it is
in Texas
and I talk myself
into a "fixin to pack"
mood for leaving
this bluesy town
I visited for about four months
and ecstatically
enjoyed
for all of about
thirty days.
ERA
April, 2000
Chicago, IL

Awakened

At half past 4
by the tourists on the streets below
filled with bars that close at 4 a.m.
in Chicago's Gold Coast
a woman screaming out her window
"shut up people are trying to sleep!"
me and my cat Rachel
snuggled under covers
that are an inch deep
I stumble to the bathroom
and back to my bed
adjust the covers and
stuff a pillow over the window
that lets in sharp cold air

I remember it's my last
official teaching day
and that makes me somber
but then I awake later to the
memory that two years ago
today
Mommy passed away
and I contemplate
how unimportant
that chit and chatter
of drunks swaying
'neath lampost light
when we know and remember
and remind ourselves
yet forget
that one day we'll have our crazy lives
put out like a hand in the hallway
turning out the switch light
so
enjoy your days
keep your worries buried deep
and if you really
have to care
put on earplugs
and enjoy your sleep.

@La Escritora
April 18,2000
downtown Chicago, IL