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 6m Coleen Mzarriz
\n Joan Zaruba\n \n
\n I\u2019ll Cry Tomorrow\n
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\n  6m Coleen Mzarriz\n
\n \n \n Joan Zaruba\n \n \n
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\n I\u2019ll Cry Tomorrow\n
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\n I\u2019ll cry tomorrow
Today I have things to get done
Too many errands to run
Tears can\u2019t unload this washing machine
Regret won\u2019t make a ***** house clean
Self-pity doesn\u2019t get the kids fed
Falling apart won\u2019t get them to bed
If you have something to say
Just please hold off for today
I have too much to do
To spend time worrying about you
So if it\u2019s my heart you plan to break
Break it tomorrow
Not now, not today
I\u2019ll cry tomorrow

\u00a9 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.
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\n Most of these lines came to me as a song I made up while doing laundry. I attempted to explore the juxtaposition of emotional drama and the physical reality of daily chores that plays out in life, especially for primary caregivers.\n
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\n \n #delayedheartbreak\n \n #motherhood\n \n #lifegoeson\n \n
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 7m Coleen Mzarriz
\n Agnes de Lods\n \n
\n Lens\n
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\n  7m Coleen Mzarriz\n
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\n Lens\n
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\n Carrying my truth.
I stand by my views,
watching through
my weakening gaze.

After a raging storm,
making peace with myself,
I vanish into the air,
my convictions fold with me.

Without simple answers,
wearing the new lens,
I see another world:
not clearer,
not wiser,
not safer,
\u2026
just slightly shifted.
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\n \n #lens\n \n
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 8m Coleen Mzarriz
\n Evan Stephens\n \n
\n Birthday #45\n
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\n  8m Coleen Mzarriz\n
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\n Birthday #45\n
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\n Young men in glazy unison
wreck over lipstick shoals

until last call's klaxons
lure a few to paddle back

& pony up for a last fist
of foaming heart.

I'm past my sailing days,
so I watch from hot shade

with germanium on/off eyes,
surrounded by ten brave

who said yes to an evening.
Leaving into the electric bower

under bud-sparked trees,
our heels are free of night,

everything is open,
& forty-five seems no great age.
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 8m Coleen Mzarriz
\n Evan Stephens\n \n
\n Vespers\n
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\n  8m Coleen Mzarriz\n
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\n Vespers\n
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\n \"Love is the worst religion,\"
croons the dying television,

with no further explanation;
well, thanks for the news -

I see myself in emptied glass,
a bust carved rude and inchoate,

poet, captain, lost apostle
of the worst religion,

baptized in changeling pools
of day and week, scribbling

my night's peak breath
on the flypapers of insomnia.

Sun over sainted skin,
stars where evening eyes were,

swain's vespers, all of it
splitting like new ripe fruit

in sticky hands of the acolyte,
ardent hands of little silver.
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 8m Coleen Mzarriz
\n Evan Stephens\n \n
\n Letter to E----\n
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\n  8m Coleen Mzarriz\n
\n \n \n Evan Stephens\n \n \n
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\n Letter to E----\n
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\n Dear E----,

The bus crawls eastward like an insect:
silvery carapace and compound eyes,

broad-spotted blue-red with ads
as we scuttle along the curb-crumbs,

outpacing a decaying Tuesday sun.
In my thoracic seat I think of love,

its strangest colors and contours,
gentle treacheries and bridges burnt,

a wavering lawn of doubled sleep.
Tonight we dine on margaritas

in our cheap pub on the hill,
hope the questions all get answered,

touch feet under the table in secret.
I'm sure I wear at your patience

with this haircut I slashed myself,
my many stumbles of attention,

all my errors of cipher and code,
& the old hot luggage of my battles...

but you persevere. Look up -
the stars are champagne perlage

in a dark coupe, and all around
the living are dying; the dying are living.
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 8m Coleen Mzarriz
\n Caits\n \n
\n are you the owner of this house?\n
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\n  8m Coleen Mzarriz\n
\n \n \n Caits\n \n \n
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\n are you the owner of this house?\n
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\n he said
\u201cwhatever you\u2019re doing, keep doing that\u201d
and I laughed
barking French seals

for doing months of work
taking sledgehammers to who I was
and gutting my soul
bare.

breaking everything intangible
and building her again

opening the crawl spaces
where the spiders lay layered

the basement with lounging leaders
diplomats in fear
wrapped in anger
and anxiety

Laying them all out in the open
Sunshine burning their skin
whispering a thank you
and the softest goodbye

cause the doors were wide open
with nothing left to hide

so come in the front door, and I\u2019ll greet you like an old friend
just now with a curfew
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