Poetry 2022

Your mother works hard on her quaint garden,

Watering memories to help your nostalgia grow

Sometimes she hums under her breath —

Harmonizing with the insects so sociable and chatty —

Freckles speckled on her shoulders

Like her grandfather’s own back in Los Angeles

Sun kisses, she calls them:

These orange spots like miniature cherry tomatoes.

The sun beats down on her straw hat; 

It smells of warm hay and sunscreen

(Non-toxic and natural, of course)

Good old dirt and herbs are better than a doctor

Organic food is good, but home-grown is best —

Cherry tomatoes are better than Doritos.

Fresh and green smelling cherry tomatoes,

These orbs of red and orange, tautly filled with juices

Some so plump they fall off their stem

You bite into this glistening ruby and it bursts

An explosion so sour, sweet, and crisp

It prickles your tongue

Juice gushes down your fingers accompanied by tiny seeds

Like boats

You take your hand-me-down shoes off 

Digging your toes into the soil

Nearby grass is dry and brittle, toughened

Under summer skies

But here, everything is vibrant and viridescent

The leaves of the tomatoes are slightly sticky

Reaching to pull you in — won’t you stay here forever

Where bees buzz amongst the blossoms of tomatoes-to-be?

You roll another cherry tomato between your fingertips–  

Your own arms have freckles too,

But not so dense as your mother’s.

You rest the cherry tomato softly on your lips, inhaling

The sweet smell of fragile summer.

All had thought, you were heartless; your heart a lifeless desert.

When the day came, it shattered that image into a million pieces.

You knew not to go. You are letting him win.

You've given him the satisfaction he craves.

You thought it was safe, once he walked away

But he came back to you. Whispers to you.

And then you lost the brutal battle with the devil

It feels as though he has risen from the depths,

Unlocking the dungeon that held your emotions.

Now, at the brim of the floodgates,

So high, about to drown your façade

It attacks with the force of a tsunami

The secret you do not want exposed.

Your eyes scream the truth

Tears flow upon your face,

Forming a puddle of truth

That you passionately hate.

He knows. You care.

Starling, Savannah or Saffron

A sparrow I could not decide

Confiscated my glimpse

Of your nearby steps in the park

Stealing my breath

Invading my sacred space

I searched my friendly acquaintance

Now perched upon the wavering uneven branch

Will the tree protect my hiding?

Watching you smiling and carefree

Blind to my gaze upon you

Wrinkles outlined your now fading skin

Your hands still move effortlessly

Once gliding gently across my own

Without hesitation

You reach for a new companion before me

Startled, the sparrow flies away

Recklessly

Disentangling from his branch

Close my eyes, two sparrows we used to be

Our steps were in unison

Your smile from my face

We’d lay across the blanket

No boundaries of time

Our bodies enveloped like home

Our lives branched into one tree

Am I forever lost in my migration?

Gliding and soaring through the endless borders

And horizon

That will never touch

Or reach me

When my time of pain and sorrow will cease to exist

I will love you regardless

Of what you have done to me

I will forgive you regardless

Of the wounds you’ve caused me

largest part of earth

undiscovered

beneath the surface

we attempt to explore

but our bodies don’t have the capacity

neither do our minds

our bodies enveloped

in the waves

legs kicking back and forth

fighting the current

that’s pulling us further

into the sea

what’s beneath us

remains a mystery

imagine what we would find

squid as big as submarines

only they don’t need machinery

to protect them

from the pressures of the deep

our shores lay dependent

on a grey sphere up in the sky

we’ve explored our oceans

but have more familiarity

with the moon

the sun rises and falls

everyday red, yellow, and orange hues

color the sky

reflected off the surface

of the great big blue

the biggest animal in the world

consumes the smallest animal

how could that ever satisfy them?

lakes within oceans

absorbed in darkness

yet life persists

animals with their own lightbulbs

navigating through the deep

when the oceans illuminate

we call it a miracle

giving us our own

guided light

our laughter echoes

over the expansive horizon

only to be drowned out

by waves

thousands of years in the making

mini mountains rise and explode

their eruptions shake earth

cracking roads and buildings

tsunamis push waves that rise

above our tallest trees

homes washed away

we split our ocean into pieces

atlantic, pacific, arctic, and indian

as if we have control over what it does

I want to build your high horse a stable

let it rest a while

let it lay down with mine.

I want to mill that hot air

see it put to use

turning wheels

blowing glass

warming the soil after a frost.

We'll skip stones across still ponds, once cast in judgment.

See all that manure bring forth lush vegetation

so that winged beasts may perch

and call to the spring.

did you ever see

the chain laid bare

each link uncovered

unfolded, raw?

the generations

ahead, behind

- all that isn’t self -

giving us our name.

did you ever try

to be set free?

Close the cabinets, Hon,

her life’s refrain,

each and every “please” ignored.

Goddamn Greg,

traipsing through the kitchen,

leaving chaos like a bitter breadcrumb trail.

The doors,

splayed wide on their hinges,

reached out like so many hands,

scratching at her brain.

this rabbit hole

(the one i’m digging to nowhere)

only goes so deep,

and then it stops far short

of where i am in need.

so i burrow

sideways and for many miles.

anywhere that’s not

the deep cut of the truth,

the place from which i bleed.

She is with me still,

my mother,

paying me visits in

the sound of my own speech.

Not always, or even very often,

but every now and then

I will open my mouth

and there she’ll be,

riding the notes of my voice and

waving to me in my laughter.

And always,

when she shows herself,

the sudden, fierce prick of pain

all over again.

If I ever write about you

Just know that this means one of three things

You either ruined me

Completed me

Or managed to do both

And the people I write about who haunt me the most

Are those who fall under the third

Because at one point you meant the world to me

And then out of nowhere you set my world ablaze

So kudos to you all

It takes someone special to go above and beyond

Someone who doesn’t care about hurting those they claim to love

I feel my flame growing colder

It’s dwindling

Spiraling

I’m losing

Falling

Crashing

I no longer believe in what once kept me going

What once kept me breathing

Numbness continues to take over the parts of me

That were once blossoming

Thriving

Living

It’s all empty space now

It’s all lifeless

Chilling

And gray

Give me love and I won’t know what to do with it

I’ll lose interest quick and run away from it

But if you give me chaos I’ll know exactly how to handle it

I’ll dive deep into its madness and make it my own

I’ll allow it to consume me and eventually I’ll call it home

Do I feel you near me?

Is that you tapping on my heart?

Guiding me through history

And the pages of your story

You left it behind and started again

A new life where freedom reigns

So very close but still such a climb

Processed like a document

Examined like an unknown stain

Led to the idea of a better future

Endless tests of standard competency

Seeking asylum from the world's snares

Growing in the knowledge of these days 

And traveling to this promised land.

To your thick glasses and thicker compression socks.

May your towel always be wrapped tightly in heaven.

May the “good stuff” always be flowing.

May your wife always remember your name.

May you always have apple juice, and may everyone call you doctor.

May they remember everything about you that I didn't get to learn.

May they never forget your name.

Salud

Seasons come and go quickly but not enough

At least from Mid-January to late February

We keep our eyes out for a special guest to appear

A wonderful white flurry develops at dusk

Those icy fibers swirl down cheerfully

Spiraling, to eventually fall with soothing softness

We mark their collective appearance as sole, yet each speck-

Under a microscope unusually appears distinctly unique

That is true, until you pinch them one by one

They’re individually fragile making them impractical

Once each of the frozen flakes latches on to one other

After reaching the surface, together they form an alliance

Growing larger with time and perfect temperature

We peek out our frosted windows for enchantment

To bring necessary amusement amid the gloomy days

With open arms our warmth comes to embrace it all

And soon the deep dark freeze catches on

This menace silences those around it

The wind commands it to behave rudely, it says

Create an abyss, cave in the doorways, bury it all!

This tormenting tyrant doesn’t last for very long

Eventually the shy sunshine will come around

Or shovels and plowing heavy metal machines

Looking to get rid of the dirty, stone cold blocks of ice

Still, we long for that fresh fine powder to make a visit

Now we must patiently wait with our hands folded

Until the next winter season arrives and goes the same

This poem was originally published in print with formatting that was not possible to reproduce in our web system. To read the poem  as it was intended, please pick up a copy of Volume 27 of Tahoma West  from the publication offices in MAT 151, or the Center for Student Involvement in the University YMCA Student Center.

Karla is what they named me.

Because it`s the female version of

my father`s name.

Never to have a son named after him so place it on the last one.

They say I should feel honor which I do,

But please tell me why I feel so blue?

Can you show me the view you all see of it?

Put me on your shoulders give me a tour?

But I already knew why the Hyacinth in my world is being invasive.

In our tongue, my name is a blank canvas.

Just the shadow of the man I was named after.

I thought this was the 21st century!?

Why is it that my sister`s name has more color than mine?

Was there nothing to inspire?

Was it laziness or disappointment?

Then someone who I didn`t know existed

claims I`m a copycat of theirs.

Don`t you know this is a common share?

I`m no copycat,

I carry the name of what should have been a male heir.

Just keep adding more water to the funeral flowers

that keep creating a flower crown.

On a quest, I go to international museums

to see something other than pale silky skin.

Nope, my name has been forsaken there too.

Hiding in the shadows accumulating dust once again.

Being the reflection of another who isn`t me.

How come my name is simply the female version of another.

But I guess beggars can`t be choosers.

At least the meaning I share is one I can get behind.

It is a remind,

That I am a fighter.

Man warrior.

So, look at me in the face etymology and

Apologize, apologize, apologize!

A house made of glass

No opaque to be found

An army of roots

A shattering sound

And as the house falls

Like a man to his knees

The earth gives a shout

As the architect weeps

I returned

To a familiar sound

But its tone had changed

The trees waved

In a genial motion

I returned the gesture

The ocean roars with unmatched fury

As I entertain a fleeting notion

The waves they crash

Electric commotion

I surrender to its violent motions

Relaxed I glide across the sea

A tethered vessel

A floating buoy

And just as I begin to sink

I think of land

A distant mystique

I’d lay my adoration for you out on a silver platter

but you’ve never been hungry for my candor

Only you could shed my cynicism

as fluidly as unzipping my dress

the fire burns

it fills my veins

tightening my heart

making it hard to breathe

the smoke consumes my lungs

i open my mouth

all i can do is cough

i try to move

but the fire builds

it breaks me down

tearing all foundation away

and stripping all memories

till i am just ashes

the fire took over

but even in ashes

the phoenix rises.

the fire burns

it fills my veins

tightening my heart

making it hard to breathe

the smoke consumes my lungs

i open my mouth

all i can do is cough

i try to move

but the fire builds

it breaks me down

tearing all foundation away

and stripping all memories

till i am just ashes

the fire took over

but even in ashes

the phoenix rises.

my canary incisors rotting from smoke

and my auburn strands thinning,

an identity befitting the altering chameleon

like a putrid corpse on her ninth life.

through my first life,

senses untarnished

and illusory potentials.

her forgiving body

thrown on the floor,

a vernacular of passionate sensitivity.

my second,

the seclusion set.

lost in the ether,

a threatening exile

fixed

like the lip of the raw bruise on my left knee.

third,

the polite virago.

placid on the exterior

a benevolent grin

white knuckles clutching at their heavy heartstrings.

fourth,

my crimson grin flattered the broken woman,

a fantasy touched by the slivers of my full bust

and cigarette stains from each voyeur.

eternally bound in his tenure,

is this version more beautiful than the last?

fifth,

and sixth,

and seventh round,

i suited my mother—

doomed from the start

and agony possessing my hips,

three insurmountable marriages fastened around my

ring finger

now a desolate snow.

drenched in self-reproach,

a delicate requiem served my eighth life;

molding to the bathtub tile until the water drains

and trusting i somehow slip down too.

how strenuous

to be a woman born with pain built in,

gradually charring her insides

from anticipated calamity.

do i look pretty like this?

Have you ever watched a flower bloom?

Neither have I. I wonder why.

Perhaps I am too impatient. Perhaps you are

too busy. Perhaps there is too much life to

live and we prioritize what we believe is

worth our time, because we have instilled

the idea that time is limited, it is crushing

and a race above everything else.

I have not taken time to watch a flower

bloom, but I think I have seen one before,

unintentionally, in the quick glimpse

through my peripherals.

The beauty sprouts from a simple bud, and

the petals form and grow, and if they are an

underrated sunflower, they follow the sun

and that is the blossom.

I’m sure if you watch from another angle

you will catch as they spiral up, or as they

thrust themselves out, as they raise just a bit,

and in all sense they are becoming alive.

They feel the wind gushing through their

delicate entities, and they get pushed around,

but rarely weaken and snap apart. They

stand tall, immaculate in the scenery.

If we do not choose to even take the time to

watch them bloom, then why do we find so

much beauty and significance in them?

Why do the artists paint them into a mural?

Why do the florists dream of them to thrive

before plucking them from their roots?

Why do lovers await to obtain and

exchange—give and receive them to only

admire their breathlessness for one

brief second of their life?

If we sacrifice a single moment of

admiration for them, then what is the point

of attempting to gain that single moment

back any other time?

I do not watch flowers bloom, and I do not

attempt to portray their beauty in a mural or

capture their dying breaths in a flower shop

and I barely admire them when they rest in a

vase in my presence... but I admire the fact

that a flower blooms. And I admire the fact

that a flower gives it all up for the sake of

ignorance and lost admiration.

When a flower blooms, a flower does not

think of the restriction of time, a flower

thinks of all the momentary admiration it

will obtain before it wilts, before it is

shunned, before becoming betrayed and

tossed away.

Unlike the artist creating a mural of this

particular, tangible wonder, I chose to

immortalize it within this, and so in the end,

am I just the same?

Coronavirus

It's here.

We hid in our houses,

For weeks hoping for normal again.

But time and time again,

We were told it can't happen.

The streets which were full of life,

Suddenly became silent.

Watching the birds outside free

Playing tag through the branches,

Chirping without a care

Taking a break with rich sugar water.

Wishing I had that freedom.

Leaving only to get groceries

Following the stickers on the floor

With authority of where to go.

Then the day came - the hope

For the normal again.

Only to be taken again,

Like a kid getting into something

They aren't supposed to.

With hospitals breaking at the seams,

We shouldn’t be open.

Grocery stores with departments,

Closed from continuous outbreaks.

Death is all around us

But still let's open up.

Slowly but surely we did.

With mask and a vaccine card

You can have the normal back.

After forced vaccinations we open more,

Bringing back school.

But after two weeks,

Students are sick - classes canceled

Missing in person school like before.

It’s still here.

But yet,

We act like it's not.