Bombs Dropping

On homes and children

And veiled wives

Lives shattered

And animals running

Scared

And I sit here in

Flannel pajamas

And contemplate turning

On the sad news

Or not

Feeling like I can do

Nothing

But pray

That the men in power

Who think they have

My approval will wake up

In some moment

In the middle of

Biting into their

Morning toast

And realize that bombs

Dropping cannot be

The answer to violence

When violent thoughts

And actions

Often have

A cause

In hurt and misunderstanding

By people

Like you and I

Who go about their lives

Working and wanting

And trying to have

A good life

Doing it of course

According

To their own damn rules

And not yours or mine.

Bombs dropping

Like tears from

The sky

Shattering the peaceful

Existence of

Farmers and goats

And sheep

And little children

Who won’t understand

What it means to be

Labeled

Criminal

By thoughts

Cultivated in fear

And ignorance

To be thought of

As a weed that

Must be killed

Or rained upon

By a shower of lethal

Bombs

Dropping

From an angry sky

By arrogant fools

Who think THIS

Will preserve our

Sense of patriotism

And courage

And THIS

Will bring back

The gluttonous

Times of eating

That good ‘ol

American pie.

Oak Park, IL 2001 

Windswept Vulnerability

[for writers' eyes]

There I did it

I dropped the letter in the mailbox

with my latest writings

to you

my friend

and my best

critic

the one I trust

because you generally say

such nice things about what I do

There I did it

I wrote about my mother

and cried at the end of it all

But truthfully

the vulnerability I just shared with myself

this past week,

and that I exposed in the rooms

with others

who don’t really know my name

and really don’t really care about me

that vulnerability doesn’t feel as bad

as the one I’m feeling now

the one that is being windswept

by the carriers’ bags,

the wings of the steel eagles

that is making its way

across Ole’ Miss

and plains

and mountains

and deserts

down to your street

and your doorstep

and your hands

and your caring eyes

yes the very eyes that

I know I can look into

and see loving

friendship

Ahhhhhh!

This exposure feels

so strange

I’m standing naked in

a line of girls taking a shower

in the mountains

I’m running through one of my own

dreams

the ones that I wake up sweating from

because I believed that I was

naked

head to toe

and everyone saw every

tiny ugly mole

and every crevice and wrinkle

on my usually

carefully

protected

covered body

That is how I feel

about sending you these writings

I feel naked and exposed and

ohsovunerable that I can

barely spit out the aawwwouuch!!

at the thought

that you might

read what I wrote

and you might

not understand it

or you’ll read it at a different pace

the one that I didn’t intend

the one that belongs after all

to the reader

the one I have to let go of

because after all that is

the writer’s task

to be in the middle of the

word, thought, letter, key, dot, comma and space

in the breath, the idea, the image, the feeling and the

connecting line of brain/heart/body power

that gives the things she writes about

LIFE

So dear, make me feel

better

tell me when you read it

that you liked it even if you didn’t

No, that’s not it

Don’t tell me you didn’t like it

even if it’s not the truth

no, wait a minute

cover me up with

a blanket of hugs and kisses

and then tell me the truth

the whole truth and nothing but it

and then tell me whatever

you read, felt, thought, believed

learned or didn’t learn

or what you wanted to know more

about what I wrote

and what I sent to you

today when

I put those pieces of

white paper with

printed words

that came from my heart

and that healed me from my hurt

and that I just had to put to paper

and that I just had to send you

because I trust you goddammit

even if I I get so darn afraid

and windswept and wobbly in

all of myself

because of this

awesome feeling of

vulnerability.

Weenie Power

What would it be like
to really tell you to your face
how enraged I finally am at you
and your fellow weenies
but especially you
in your representative capacity
as the head of this
institution
of petrified attitudes
for all the ways in which
you contributed to
the devastating loss
of my academic dreams?


What would you say if
I suddenly appeared
out of nowhere
minutes after you’d just
finished brushing your teeth
and were still adjusting
the collar of your shirt
and pulling on your tie
my presence seeming like
the fulfillment
of a nightmare
of meeting up with
a VERY ANGRY WOMAN
who with raging fire
spewing from my eyes
my pores
my hands like
laser swords
aimed at your
groin and shouting
You !
Hey you!
wearing that
cloth of power
Yeah you!
with the
stinking cigar
and the
vest decorated
with the nails
left over from
sealing my
professional coffin?

Yes, what would
you do if
you understood
that you’d buried
my spirit alive
and that
I’ve come back
from the land of
those presumed
a fatality
under one of the
rails of the tenure-track
and that it is burning
a set of footprints
on your doormat
as I await the
moment of
seeing you
buckle
just for a second
and reach for your
weenie whistle
and the aid of
your subjects
those marzipan soldiers
who confused
the Tin Man
for a leader
and like frightened roaches
are scurrying off
to other corners
under the
flashing lights
of the public’s scrutiny?

What would you do
Oh gracious leader
with your Cheshire cat smile
what would you do
if you understood
finally
that sandwiched between
my rage and my anger
there is an old wound
now covered up with scars
and that
I’ve just come back
to caution you
stay out of the way
of the healed warrior
who has reclaimed her power

I tell you what
don’t tell me what you’d do
I don’t really care
what’s more important
is that in this mind’s eye
I’ve got a six shooter
on my hip
we’re on a dirt street
in front of that shameful parlor
they call a learned hall of legal education
and you’ve got one too
but it’s me and my target-practiced
fury against you
and your
little weenie
power

June 1998, Kripalu,
Lenox, MASS.

SISTER FARM SERIES 2000

Tentative Tree/Dominic/Serenidad 

Tentative Tree

Yoga 

high up

at dawn 

standing in the 

Asana of Tree

and seeing the 

tops of cedar elm

out the window

Grateful 

for the miracle

of being alive 

healthy

strong

enough 

to stand with

one leg up

like a flamingo

arms outstretched to 

the open hill country

fingertips reaching 

for the heavens above

feelings 

emerge at the edges

of an imperfect stance

and from my current life station

un/employed 

and swaying to the 

windy currents of desire

and expectations

jobless yet with 

so much to do 

in that posture of 

willingness 

if nothing else

to hold me up

along with strength from the love 

and kindness of friends

who embrace 

my tired limbs.

7/21/00-SisterFarm

Boerne, TX

DOMINIC AT 4:16 AM

I’m in the middle of 

A really good dream 

Don’t you understand?

Sleeping in the nun’s room

And tossing with 

Menopausal fury

And then you come along

With a plaintive

MEOOWWW!!!

And my right hand reaches out 

to pet thick

fur and rub grateful

purring head

hoping

it’s enough to calm 

you for another hour

or so because

right now 

you darn

sweet cat

I’m too dead tired

to drag myself 

to the kitchen

and check out 

the finicky condition

of water, bowl or 

needy disposition

that brings you

into Act 1, Scene 2

of my nightly melodrama

the stories of my life

pulled out from under

the pillow of my aging 

desperation 

and replayed for the 

hundredth time again

and now that I think 

of it

your MEOWWW

came along

just at the right 

time. 

Boerne, TX – 7/21/00   

SERENITY/SERENIDAD

It is simple

Es sencillo

Dormir bien bajo las estrellitas 

A good sleep

under 

a canopy of stars

Respirando  los aires del campo noche y día 

Breathing warm earthen-scented air

at the day’s beginning

and in the middle of 

a chirping filled country night

La barriga llena de frutas, hierbas y verduras 

A belly filled with

fresh herbs, fruits 

and vegetables

Gifts from the loving hands

of talented gardeners

women graced with living

the feminine principle 

Regalos de las jardineras de la Diosa 

Viviendo bajo el orden natural y feminino

Dándole á  y recibiendo de

 la  tierra bondadosa

of giving and receiving from

the land 

Trabajando y enriqueciendo

Los terrenos con las aguitas

 y el sudor

de una cara sonriente

toiling and feeding the roots

with moisture from 

drip drip dripping waters

and the gently falling 

sweat of the happy brow. 

7/23/00 

Boerne, TX  

Prayer for Cada Dia

Everyday
I shall write about
this piercing terror
that needles through every
single pore of my skin


I sit at the computer
staring at lace curtains
late summer greenleaves
dampened trunks of
a giant cedar elm
and Southern pecan
after a drenching
thunderstorm


I thirst for a stream of
delicious words
honeyed by the warmth
of my faith
that I can travel inside
the mind of the Goddesses
Gaia, Athena, Isis,
Kali, Artemis and Guadalupe


I am at the tip of their strong
fingers, or they are coming
through the endpoints of mine
I am light on my strikes
to this molded plastic
they call a link to
humanity
the computer
my friend
sometimes
my enemy
the tool I use to
travel light years
in a moment of brilliantly colored
fantasy and thought

Come forth oh ladies of mystery!
come forth
through these muscled
hands that love to dig
the earth of my family’s
history and
find sad bones
tortured memories
salty braids of love lost
and hope betrayed
sugar rocks
and chocolate wheels
corn husks
blankets of coarse thread
clay bean pots
frijoles calientitos
and somber images
of el Sagrado Corazon
and La Virgen and her
Ninõ Jesús
burning candles
ancient ghosts
that made us laugh
and rosaries for
the dead

Come forth and show me
what I forget I already know
about what makes
me brown marimacha
special and not

Abrázame Diosa
Hold me Goddess
in your rebozo of
wisdom and light

Help me write
a word, a story that
will forever connect me
to those women I loved
and have now buried

to my cocinera, my cook
my tejera, my  seamstress
to my Abuela la jardinera
y a la maestra de mis
malas maneras

Yes, cada dia
everyday
I shall write
and remember
that the piercing terror
is a gift and a door
to las memorias
to unrelenting
word and prayer
to a rosary of love
and as many legends,
myths and old viejas’ tales

Yes, everyday
I shall remember
and be grateful
that I can remember
and weep and tell the stories
that make them
mis Diosas
and my written fragments
a way for me to feel
and never to forget.

Elvia Arriola, Austin, Texas, 1999.

The Alley

Strolling the alley
Of a run down working-class
Black, Latino and poor white
Neighborhood in DeKalb
I felt the air
Of an approaching springtime
A breeze gently swirled
Dead brown leaves that
Had been buried for weeks
Under blankets of snow

A green and purple shoot
Pushing through the warming
Ground
Reminded me
Of past Lenten seasons
Anticipation of Easter
Priests in purple vestments
The irises I would gift Abuelita
As her “flores favoritas”
And the aroma of baking
Bread pudding she called
“Capirotada”

Turning the corner
A brown family walked by
We all approached downtown
And the old railroad crossing
And then I wondered
How many changes had come
And gone in this little town
And old row of houses
New about a hundred years ago
How many trains had passed
Through these prairies
And the farms and the cornfields
Of northern Illinois
When did the first Mexicanos arrive
With their families to pick
The crops for the white farmers
And how did they end up
My neighbors in this little row
Of humble casitas near
The railroad tracks?
When did la frontera
Move so far north
To Chicagolands
Bringing with it
Men, women and children
Who walk by
Hablando español
Averting the gaze of an assimilated
Or anglicized eye?
How do they make barrio
And comunidad
And survive the icy
Cold whiteness of these
Midwestern plains?

E.Arriola, DeKalb, IL 3/18/02

Yoga's Divine Stretch

I thought of the divine
as possibly resting within me
and saw a flower of compassion
deep purple, pink, throbbing in its glory

I dared to consider
that my soul is illuminated
by a spark
of that energy we call God(dess)

Upon further consideration
of the divine in me
I saw lightning bolts
labelled joy, freedom
and an awesome love
for everything alive
that can make a rock weep
and clouds dance in delight

When I paused to reflect
how I might teach others
that our spirits, minds and bodies
in union
recreate the wisdom
that gave us the
star-studded heavens

I rejoiced

As I witnessed
the strength it takes
to whisper our hurts
into a pillow we have drenched
with our tears
or the courage it takes
to share them as we weep
and bathe the shoulders
of a comforting friend

And I owned the
courage it has taken
to stand tall when
I understood that
not everyone liked
but many more have loved
me

When I could envision
the wardrobe of my
leap of faith as I emerged
from this dungeon of despair
I saw pearl-capped mountains
holding me up tall and proud
warrior’s armor polished
with ruby red breath
I wore emerald green trees
and sapphire laced blankets
for a child’s pose

I saw the union of
my body with spirit and
a restless mind

I saw my off-the-mat-yoga
as a dreamer’s
notion of what it
means to express
being both human and divine.

Spiritual Breath

When
the breath rises
and life proceeds
before and after
Time

When

Einstein’s
curved universe
returns the
ray of light that just
bounced against my eye

When

on the starry night’s path
I reach out
and find the hands
of old friends
willing to look down
on the earth’s
spinning
like on a table of
eternal thought
and to say in our
observance
“I wonder if they’ve
had a good day”

When

I can imagine myself
in spirit, mind
and body
no further from goddess
than the ant
the elephant
the rivers in India are
in their own rhythm
and history

When
I can awake
with a smile
of contentment
because I no longer
need the artificialities
of boxed up existence
we have labelled TIME

When the polyester suits
of the sixties
and the Wall Street
furies of the eighties
or the poverty and
hateful indifferences
of the nineties
and dogs on motorcycles
or Madonna
chanting OM
mean no more
than we humans
finding strange ways
to act out our
unconscious disturbance
that God’s plan
has not been revealed to us

again

When the bombs in India
or the elections in Iran
stop giving me
reason to reach for an aspirin
or to stir with less ease
the tea in my cup

When

I have come to understand
the meaning of
Acceptance
and the meaninglessness
of meditating on my resistance

Then

I might relish
in the rise and fall
of the breath
and string it out
long and full
hoping that
it is one more
tickle
on the goddess’s
face
capable of
making her
smile.

Austin, TX May 1999

Oración/Prayer

I hereby
invoke a new prayer

a la India Diosa
quien me carga en
su rebozo
Dame paciencia

Goddess
grant me patience

Le tengo miedo al futuro
I fear the future

Se me olvida que
tu todo sabes
I forget that you know all

que tu cuidas los mares
los vientos
y los temblores

That you watch over seas
winds and quakes

Y te encargas del horario
en que se terminan
los viajes de nuestras almas

And that you keep the time
clock which marks the end of
our soul’s journeys

O Diosa grande y buena
Oh Goddess good and great

Por un grano de paciencia
le doy las gracias

For a grain of patience
I thank you

Y te ofrezco mi maiz
amarillo lleno de esperanza

And I offer you this maize
filled with the color of hope

Y amor
and love

Oye mi oracion
Hear my prayer

Mientras canto
tus gracias
y maneras de recordarme

While I sing your graces
and your ways of reminding me

Que nunca estoy sola
That I am never alone

Que to rebozo de luz
That your blanket of light

Siempre cargo dentro de mis
buenas intenciones y mi fe

I carry always as an aspect
of my willingness
and my faith

Amen.

Hungry/Lonely/Love/Fast

[Once upon a time I thought I would try a week long guided fast.]

Love is a mystery

no connection it seems

to what is going on around me

until I remember

Hey, they’re probably

all feeling just like me

wondering

Where is love in this process

of tepid broth

beet juice

brown rice

and nothing but 

water 

water 

water

Where is love in this journey

of looking at me

from the inside out

not running from the

uncooked emotions

bubbling to the surface

of this teapot of my inner self

Where am I?

Who am I? Who have I been

around rice, pasta, cookies

ice cream and endless arrays

of rich desserts and why?

What does love

have to do with eating and not eating?

Ahh

But I have eaten

out of loneliness

I have eaten out of spite

I have eaten inside of closets

I have hidden snacks

and opened them in the night

I have eaten for 2 or 3 all in one sitting

and I have also starved myself in punishment

for the binge

I have eaten in ways 

when I didn’t even know

that the cake, cookie or candy

was covering up 

a dirty old feeling 

like Hate. 

Eating is love

is a need

is a right

is a burden

Eating is a feeling, a thought
I buried under every

fast, hungry, unconscious bite

Eat, bite, crunch, 

swallow, 

fast, slow, awake and 

mellow.  Eat 

for nourishment

for body and soul

eat for energy to 

dance, kick, run

and play with other fellows 

Eating for love

for loss of love

not eating for love

for loss of love?

Where is love?

It remains 

a mystery

food and love 

and eating

the same

a part of the mystery

my own investigation into the

differences between

loneliness, hunger, eating, food

and loving me.

Heart in the Mountain

I came to the mountains

and I found my heart

it was sitting at the

foothills just waiting for me

when I got there

the trees called out my

name and opened

their arms to

hold the hurts, aches

and disppointments

I’d brought in my knapsack

The black birds danced a jig

while the red birds

set a table for the

feasting on colorful

stretches they knew

I would enjoy

As I set down my bags

and put the past beind me

the lake offered to hug me

as I dropped my worries

into her bosom

and I greeted my healing heart

and delighted in the

rainbow of emotions

she had been waiting

to show me

And after a good

and long visit

I thanked the mountains

for their generous hospitality

as I gave them the

happy news that

my heart and I

were going back

home together

at peace 

and in love

with 

myself.

In the Memory of...

Every car drove by
Slowly
To the last good bye
For the woman
Whose symbol of life
Would be the peach
Colored roses on
Her simple box
And wearing dresses
Of black, white, brown
And blue
The women of the clan
Cried and passed
Along their embraces
To brothers and sisters
Family and friends
Sharing memories
Of a tall elegant
Younger mother
With a fierce talent
And a sharp mind
And a cutting tongue
If you crossed
her righteous path
Invoking the wrath
Over felt breaches of
Her deeply committed
Values, beliefs and
Personally designed
convictions

At the ceremony's end
When they couldn't laugh anymore
About childhood memories
When the last photo of togetherness
Had been shot and labeled
When the last tissue
Had been soaked
With the waters of grief
Adequate for one day
Pitifully small for
A lifetime of remembrance
Their eyes were drawn
To the star-studded sky
And the spelling
In it of her
Light-filled name
And in a dreamy gaze
They journeyed home
To be tucked in bed
By a Mother's distant love
Blanketed with
Sorrow
Tears
And their rekindled
Love for each other.

Summer 1998

Blood in the Snow, a campus shooting survivor reflects

[on a bitterly cold and snowy February 14, 2008, a former graduate student of Northern Illinois University came on to the DeKalb campus armed with guns, entered a large classroom in Cole Hall and shot and killed five students and injured sixteen others. He then turned the gun on himself.]  

* * * 
Your feet crunched 
across the frozen grounds
of this alma mater
carrying cold steel 
in the pockets of an overcoat
like the metal surrounding your heart 

blood spurts of 
"anger repressed"
words to describe in neutral terms

"clinically depressed"

a mad man 'or just a "mad" young man

without a voice

I think of the seconds before
the crunch of your boots across
the cold pavement

did you sweat in anticipation
did you shed a tear in the seconds
before turning the trigger on yourself? 

Did you have a moment of indecision
vacillation
contemplation
a chat with someone
anyone
an admission 

I'm crazy with this feeling
and this is what I want to do...
and I mean it...

White skin on the white snow 
walked into a room full of the 
coats of many colors
worn in the season before spring

everyone sat waiting for the T.A.
as you walked in and lay your broken
spirit on the floor
gently or madly
closing the door
and opening the case in which
the weapon of mass destruction lay
nesting and ready for its moment 
of precision
crafted in a shop somewhere 
far away
but brought to this moment
this insane crazed moment
as you bent down 
to pick it up 
because your soul had already been 
left at home
crushed or barely surviving
on the breath of fury
which now jumped from behind
the metal door around your pumping heart
pushed the muscle in the hand
that now aimed and opened fire
once, twice, more, the 
girls and boys 
gathered 
waiting
now dropping 
like targets at a range
or birds in the sky
their shocked spirits
floating across the whiteness of the 
outside snow which they too
had walked that day as you
winter boots on the grounds 
of your alma mater
who now must embrace
all of her children in a deeply sorrowful
gesture of 
community grief
rage filled tears
and love.