Listen to the music

Sunday, March 30, 2014

April's Promises




are for mortals.





The timid bud


via

 
arrests a restless mind


via


and 


feathered hopes wing away







taking us with them. 



copyright cristie henry via pinterest


For
Flesh and blood


do the miracles of April


unfold.



via



via



via



From 

paper and pen

does the heart's beat

rise.  





  
And it's all for

the people I care about

to whom I wish

April's Promises.



via


This post is dedicated to 

everyone

overcoming cancer.
(I am fine, my dear friends. This is just a poem dedicated to others)



To R. F.

Tasting

a sudden landing
of oregano on the tongue
brings a dead uncle back
to a family picnic.  Bulbous boysenberries

between the teeth squirt a sweet punch
of childhood Sundays, and playful
plosives release an airflow of thought
on the tongue blade.  The mouth

Is a feast.

But the words

I have breast cancer

are hard to swallow.  Fricatives
strike like primal impulses
on a battlefield
of teeth on flesh. Vowels

piston five syllables, mashing
a bland unbelief that you spit out
when you say them. Fear
puddles in the soft-mouthed life

of morning when you wake
and I say them
with you,

Tasting.



anita rivera©
winter 2014