doe__eyes (doe__eyes) wrote in moosespresso,
doe__eyes
doe__eyes
moosespresso

poetrrrry update:

Pablo Lorenzo

*note, the speaker in this poem is not me (but i find it more effective to write it from first person)

was all hair and teeth
untied shoelaces
and he had a kindergarten crush
on kindergarten me
he spoke grandly
of how he won playground races
of the puppies he had
tiny brown black spots
he offered me the cutest
but my mother declined for me,
saying, “she’s allergic,”
which was code for
“she’s allergic to you”
because even then
at tender age 6
I was learning the value of holding
a cute but awkward boy
at arms’ length
for reasons culminating
in the excess of hair gel
globbed in his
shiny Hispanic hair:
            half Mexican,
            half Spanish
            but all wrong

//

Fear of Heights

My sister used to climb trees
when we were little
and the smallest branches
were the size of our arms
I would watch from down below
making sure that our parents
didn’t catch us –
            her, reaching for the birds’ nest
            me, doing nothing to stop her

Her favorite tree had smooth, flat leaves
and little black berry-seeds
that fell in droves, bouncing off of my head
as Lindsey shook the branches, giggling
I crushed them, one by one,
under the toes of my sneakers
spreading the pulp and skin
over the concrete
until that corner of the driveway
was more purple than gray
until my mother came out
and yelled at me for ruining my shoes

and Lindsey giggled more
pelting me with tree berries
still perched, like some bird,
high above my head

 

//

Heritage (wt)

silence is beautiful, my grandmother told me
in defense of the tight lipped ladies
in the murals of the temple

the commotion outside was deafening
it was a celebration day – lunar new year
firecracker strings burst
children screamed in fright, then laughed
at the drums and dragon dance

and I said I didn’t understand
but she didn’t hear me,
only nodded and smiled kindly
showing no teeth

on the drive home, I tried
to assume the beauty of silence
no radio, no conversation –
but my family,
            removed from notions of tradition,
only thought I was in a bad mood

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