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“These boys bent over their food,
intense as harmless cubs feeding,
rapt with every morsel melting
in their mouths—feral rhythm
moves their very breath,
their strong young teeth chomping,
grinding the gristle of meat.
So little it takes to pleasure them—
they eat what they can get,
savoring a fine fillet
with equal fervor as the bits
stuck to a bone or clinging to a plate.
Watching them feed, I seem to see them
under my very eyes growing, bones
lengthening, muscle stretching,
their very skulls
thickening around each one’s own
danger zones of memory.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
intense as harmless cubs feeding,
rapt with every morsel melting
in their mouths—feral rhythm
moves their very breath,
their strong young teeth chomping,
grinding the gristle of meat.
So little it takes to pleasure them—
they eat what they can get,
savoring a fine fillet
with equal fervor as the bits
stuck to a bone or clinging to a plate.
Watching them feed, I seem to see them
under my very eyes growing, bones
lengthening, muscle stretching,
their very skulls
thickening around each one’s own
danger zones of memory.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
“We kept a jarful of keys
on a forgotten shelf
in the house.
What doors they opened,
or what they kept forever locked,
before they came by accident
or chance into our little jar,
we never learned.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
on a forgotten shelf
in the house.
What doors they opened,
or what they kept forever locked,
before they came by accident
or chance into our little jar,
we never learned.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
“Trapped in a conspiracy
of chance we sit close inside
this sardine can on wheels
horning the gasfume streets
of this dust-tired afternoon.
How your shoulders
strain your shirt; a stray wind cools
your sweat in my skin.
“This heat,” I mutter,
“melts the very bones,”
saying this as I feel
inside me awakening
sweet April, fragrant May
unfolding flower fingers
on her lap.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
of chance we sit close inside
this sardine can on wheels
horning the gasfume streets
of this dust-tired afternoon.
How your shoulders
strain your shirt; a stray wind cools
your sweat in my skin.
“This heat,” I mutter,
“melts the very bones,”
saying this as I feel
inside me awakening
sweet April, fragrant May
unfolding flower fingers
on her lap.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
“wind stinging our faces
overhead the birds
shrieking turn back
turn back turn back
behind us, look,
bright fields, the sea
glinting gold!
we've come this far
chasing the rain,
the sun at our heels.”
― Tales of the Spiderwoman: New Poetry
overhead the birds
shrieking turn back
turn back turn back
behind us, look,
bright fields, the sea
glinting gold!
we've come this far
chasing the rain,
the sun at our heels.”
― Tales of the Spiderwoman: New Poetry
“She battened on a truth
she knew I too must own:
when what’s at stake
is loyalty or love,
hers are the true rights.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
she knew I too must own:
when what’s at stake
is loyalty or love,
hers are the true rights.”
― Hearthstone, Sacred Tree
“Whatever you see, do not cry.
You will grow up, little one,
bearer of this vicious bond—
anger of your daughters,
revenge of your sons.”
― Amina Among the Angels
You will grow up, little one,
bearer of this vicious bond—
anger of your daughters,
revenge of your sons.”
― Amina Among the Angels
“We say verse is fun in the doing,
True, that’s what we’re saying.
And if our rhymes now are only limping,
why Muse, the blame stops with us,
we don’t pass it on, not on one
of our kind, certainly not to you.”
― Amina Among the Angels
True, that’s what we’re saying.
And if our rhymes now are only limping,
why Muse, the blame stops with us,
we don’t pass it on, not on one
of our kind, certainly not to you.”
― Amina Among the Angels
“Sour wine laughter song
a bagful of wishes
my satchel of skin
my brittle bones—
Chasing the rain
The sun at my heels”
― Tales of the Spiderwoman: New Poetry
a bagful of wishes
my satchel of skin
my brittle bones—
Chasing the rain
The sun at my heels”
― Tales of the Spiderwoman: New Poetry
“She flutters a hand and history
breathes—innocence returns,
sin ripens on the tree of knowledge,
death comes to be.”
― Tales of the Spiderwoman: New Poetry
breathes—innocence returns,
sin ripens on the tree of knowledge,
death comes to be.”
― Tales of the Spiderwoman: New Poetry
“What feet may reach against
the mind’s arrogance soaring wingless
to Alpha Centauri light years away,
daring the arctic whalepath,
piercing a bacterium’s elegant minutiae
as it swims in amniotic oblivion
in a Petri dish. Is the Universe
ruled by chance or design? Who knows?
How far is far, what measures near,
enough or not, a little or too much?”
― Amina Among the Angels
the mind’s arrogance soaring wingless
to Alpha Centauri light years away,
daring the arctic whalepath,
piercing a bacterium’s elegant minutiae
as it swims in amniotic oblivion
in a Petri dish. Is the Universe
ruled by chance or design? Who knows?
How far is far, what measures near,
enough or not, a little or too much?”
― Amina Among the Angels
