Lola
sings deep songs;
the figurine toreadors
encircle her still,
and the hobbled barber,
latched to his door jamb,
keeps time
with the bobbing of his head.
Between the sweet basil,
and spearmint,
Lola
laments to God.
Lola
who looked down so often,
and only at herself in the pool.
Author: Federico García Lorca
Translator: Manny Grimaldi
Query the cells of your body–
Darling, what’s wrong?
What’s miraculous?
What do you long for?
Listen
God with your own Universe–
they, your cells
forgiving,
listen in return.
Part 2
Beginnings end Endings end Beginnings
She joked that you tried to kill her at your birth,
You learned to laugh at the things most painful.
Your youthful hands brought her from beneath,
Reborn to light and life,
She learned proof of the persistent Power of Pure Love.
Today you brushed her hair and held her mottled hand, giving her away to the everlasting.
Your helix Beginnings and Endings on pause
Until you end and begin again.
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Billy Joel crooned that tune
from the tiny tinny radio
in my high school bedroom,
with its white provincial
furniture and gold shag
carpet. I listened as I did
my French homework
and dreamed of a life larger
than could be lived
in Skaneateles, New York.
Fifty years ago
that album came out.
Fifty years ago.
the rocks are jagged- they jut from the water like ancient pillars that once held up the sky above. one with a round hole in the middle, like a window made by the hand of god himself. another dotted with trees as waves break at the base. it is loud here; in that way that only the sea can be loud and soothing in equal measure. i find peace in the cold water against my feet, stepping over smooth stones to reach sand. i pick one up, turn it on my palm, trace it with my finger. it is warm. so am i. i can’t believe that i am here in this place, so far from home. the pacific has always seemed so impossible to this mountain girl.
i belong back east
to old appalachia
but my heart is full
The world is not what it seems
it is more
Man believes he can stop it
he cannot
He believes the sky obeys
his command
Man believes he can stop the ocean
still the waves
All he needs to do is depopulate
pick and choose who lives
Bury the lessons of the past
rewrite history
Beneath the ashes of our founding
we silence reality
Not realizing that all the voices calling out
help us remain
The tyrants consider themselves our saviors
(all hail the gods of science)
They get drunk on the tears of heroes
while we suffer
The world is not what it seems
it is more
More beautiful
More full
More resilient
More ours than theirs
