Saturday, December 1, 2012

13 poets read from SGVPQ 56

Thelma Reyna

Blue is black before the sun awakes, black swirled with
silver as light sneaks through, not fooling gods or
men. Come do your job, Blue. Bring all your brushes, throw
your strokes above our heads and all around and show us
what you have.
Paul Newman eyes. Blue of talent and compassion, his
blueness giving fortunes to the hungry, heart-bursting jeans
blue sexy in a streetcar, hustler, cool hand luke blueness.
When he died, blue eyes turned black, as sapphire tears fizzled
out and he took his blueness to the clouds.
Ocean blue slicked black with gushes from the deep, blue
smirched with orange, red, churning, burning, billows
black, hearts blue, suffocated hearts, drowned riggers in gulf
blue, blue grief, pelicans blue-black from tar and death, blue eyes
weeping at BP greed.
Pool blue respite in the Bronx, wavy concrete aqua heat,
crystal blue splashes, spindly children in red, brown, blue swimsuits,
dark eyes, blue eyes blinking, squinting, little lips blue from cold,
watchful mothers under blue canopies, under a cloudless sky
blue smug in its iron grip.
Blue, blue, you never come alone. You drag red along, for heartbreak,
black for night, loss, death, and grief, and white for heat and
sky gloves blue white. Blue swirls with silver, never fooling god
or man, blueness swirling high, deep, dry, wet, vast, small, bin laden’s grave
and porcelain christ statue eyes.

No comments:

Post a Comment