Hope you can come for my art show:
My short fiction in Bindweed Magazine:
The frozen laundry had hung in the snow for three days. When Martha finally went to get Fidel’s shirts, his pants, his underwear, it was already late evening, on the fourth. They were so stiff, those clothes.
One afternoon, I was a woman on a boat,
Boating in the shadows of the mangroves,
Painting myself a mangrove forest,
In briny wetness, floating, flooding my boat with light,
My brain rooting in wind, in salt water, in turpentine.
It’s remarkably, the best place to learn, salt and tide
Can affect the blood, the heart, and worry the mind;
High tide or low tide, we must keep our roots;
Sea salt or rock salt, we must keep it from our blood –
Such lessons are sedimented elements in the swamp.
So I paddle through the brack, the chatty back waters,
Listening to the saline whispers of wind management,
And the banter of coastal survival, thinking I too have
A word to contribute, just one word to say,
I too have a mangrove element in my veins.
Thrilled to share that this poem received honorable mention in the 2016 Palm Beach Ekphrastic Poetry Festival Contest.
I made the poem into a painting – just have to get my hands on some color! Actually, I am working on a series of poem paintings, more about that soon. I’ve typed the poem below as well.
The black birds crack sunflower seeds;
The yellow birds feed on reddish pips.
In the bird food packet, there’s many kinds,
I suppose for each particular beak.
I must be particular to keep
The bird feeder always full –
Hunger rewrites the scriptures
Thirst will bestow dark.
This winter, kindness formed
In my head, like the ice upon the pond;
The birds walked across on it,
To where it was spring.
Poetry or painting, which is it to be. Always a tender predicament!