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ariel-evangeline-baptistaPoems
The ambivalent affect of a cold cup of tea  On a snowy day, late March  When everything rings of life and death and urgency  Like our elliptical elections   With their Messiah complexes   Mundane  Like Thursday desks and tables  Green tea tainted with undertones of unwashed coffee  Lingering in the pores of mugs  The politics of shame  And all the things I wish I told you  (I wish I had told someone)  But cyclical realities are ultimate realities  And I've chosen mine already  Woven with interchanging self-destruction  And re-composition  Re-construction  Resurrection.  Pain.  Dull, dualistic   And dripping from my forehead  Did I mention Thursday?  Did I mention scars?  Shall we move to new and different places  And leave ourselves behind? Burdens like sticky, heaving blackberries  Molten, melting, gooey, globbed together and leaking   Through the cracks in my straw basket  Heavy.  Dropping berries walking paths to places  Falling like blood-bombs  One by one on the white-brick  Walking silence into sunsets   And never looking back at the  Rotting plasma carnage   That marks the roads I travelled  What's left are leaves and stalks and thorns  A basket dyed dark red and sticky  Me, poised and paralyzed   Gasping, gagging, groping in my liberation  Homesick  For places that never existed      That never will  Crying stories that never happened  Fearing creatures never born  Blisters and bruises,  Beckoned to oceans  In the soft-tide I saw my future  In the undertow, my past  Riding the waves with crystal foam   And diaspora trash  All my chunky sins intermingled with salt and seaweed. Questions burn me Bind and blind me Battered and bleeding  Left helpless on the floor  And they yell   Learn faster! Learn better, learn well! If pain leads to the deepest learning  Then I will know so very much  Muffled and maimed I'll sink in it  Drowning, Docile in the knowing of things. Facts and figures Factors, functions, fractions And formulas Here are the things I know Splintered, smiling, basking in their blinding light They’re my diamonds, my precious disasters. They are my welcomed death. Eyes open and perceive Taking stock of the surroundings A blood-burned path of blackberries and scar tissue My knobby-spine leaning against a tree trunk Sea breeze, and my aura Free-floating but defeated Affected ambivalently by these words By worlds Spirits and bodies and Torn flesh and minds Still always cold questions Still always early Thursdays Walking Working Willing to draw more breath Willing to keep walking To keep working To keep breathing And bleeding.
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Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
Blackberry March
The ambivalent affect of a cold cup of tea  On a snowy day, late March  When everything rings of life and death and urgency  Like our elliptical elections   With their Messiah complexes   Mundane  Like Thursday desks and tables  Green tea tainted with undertones of unwashed coffee  Lingering in the pores of mugs  The politics of shame  And all the things I wish I told you  (I wish I had told someone)  But cyclical realities are ultimate realities  And I've chosen mine already  Woven with interchanging self-destruction  And re-composition  Re-construction  Resurrection.  Pain.  Dull, dualistic   And dripping from my forehead  Did I mention Thursday?  Did I mention scars?  Shall we move to new and different places  And leave ourselves behind? Burdens like sticky, heaving blackberries  Molten, melting, gooey, globbed together and leaking   Through the cracks in my straw basket  Heavy.  Dropping berries walking paths to places  Falling like blood-bombs  One by one on the white-brick  Walking silence into sunsets   And never looking back at the  Rotting plasma carnage   That marks the roads I travelled  What's left are leaves and stalks and thorns  A basket dyed dark red and sticky  Me, poised and paralyzed   Gasping, gagging, groping in my liberation  Homesick  For places that never existed      That never will  Crying stories that never happened  Fearing creatures never born  Blisters and bruises,  Beckoned to oceans  In the soft-tide I saw my future  In the undertow, my past  Riding the waves with crystal foam   And diaspora trash  All my chunky sins intermingled with salt and seaweed. Questions burn me Bind and blind me Battered and bleeding  Left helpless on the floor  And they yell   Learn faster! Learn better, learn well! If pain leads to the deepest learning  Then I will know so very much  Muffled and maimed I'll sink in it  Drowning, Docile in the knowing of things. Facts and figures Factors, functions, fractions And formulas Here are the things I know Splintered, smiling, basking in their blinding light They’re my diamonds, my precious disasters. They are my welcomed death. Eyes open and perceive Taking stock of the surroundings A blood-burned path of blackberries and scar tissue My knobby-spine leaning against a tree trunk Sea breeze, and my aura Free-floating but defeated Affected ambivalently by these words By worlds Spirits and bodies and Torn flesh and minds Still always cold questions Still always early Thursdays Walking Working Willing to draw more breath Willing to keep walking To keep working To keep breathing And bleeding.
ariel-evangeline-baptista
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ariel-evangeline-baptista
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
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