i used to cradle her bleach-cracked hands in mine
and decode the stardust resting within her fingerprints
     up until the day that i lost touch with the art of reading braille
     and she stopped slinging tall-tales for me to fetch
and rest the plot-twist at her feet

often in the post-script
i'd find my train of thought highjacked by the sunlight illuminating the rainbow of earth-tones ablaze
in her frizz-ridden curls
as if she'd been washing her hair with the damaged case of beer
she'd gotten for half-price at liqour depot
     she never did quit drinking
          but neither did i

at least we tried

though sometimes
in the middle of the night when nothing was alright
and we'd barely survived another fight
her face would catch my glance
cast aglow by a flood of lava-lamp light
    
     the sea of freckles resting at the crest of her cheeks
     rose lips perma-pursed in half tilt
     her resting heart-rate so high that i could almost see it
          pirouetting within her chest

it was then that i'd love her best
     amidst the ruins of who we were
     just moments before

You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.

I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.

From there you could look out
over Castille's dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel?         Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
Everything
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.

And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings --
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to **** children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.

Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!

Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!

Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.

And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!

The pigeons picked at the
crumbs in between the diamonds.
But they were more than likely
just pieces of broken glass.

The occupants of
the Mad house sit
out front on the concrete steps.
The look on their faces
say they are far
away from all of this used to be.

He could have been a
family man, a respected man.
Instead he slept like a
naive little baby, curled up on
the concrete with only
a wine stained coat for comfort.

This here is an asphalt
run still alive with history.

Good time girls and juiced up
sailors once painted this
street red with painted kisses
and fist fight blood.

The guys danced with the
women whose lips were
as red as the wine they drank.

This all should have gone
on forever.

All that is left now are
the pigeons and
the broken glass.

The winos and the Mad ones,
who shuffle like lost penguins
along Beacon street.
Still waiting for
the party to begin.

When I was young,
Smooth, young hands soothed me.
They wiped my tears,
Caressed my hair,
And these hands belonged to
Mommy.

Youthful oblivion blinded me
To the effects of time.
I never noticed that as I grew up,
You were growing up too.
You were perfect, infallible--
With all the wisdom of the world
Written in the lines on your palms.

An adult now, I know
The hardships you've faced, the battles you've conquered.
And I notice your hands--
Wrinkled by time's passing,
Lined with experience.
They still wipe my tears.
They still caress my hair.
And these same hands belong to my mother, my friend.

not claiming to be a poet,
just someone whose only friends
are bundles of words,
chewed upon pens,
and worn-down notebooks.

Pulling out of the drive through, trying to turn left.
Look left, clear.  Look right, busy.  
Wait for right,
waiting waiting.
Clear, pull through.  

"WAIT! Don't go"

slam on breaks

sit partly into intersection

i place my hand on your knee,
i see you trying to swallow, hoping i don't notice while you giggle half-heartidly in attempts to trick me.

"That would have been me....."



"can we not..."    as I try to make you feel better.


2 hours later i sit on your bed reading A Thousand Splendid Suns as you play some game (???) on your computer.  

Skullcandy earbuds followed by a prehistoric lamination machine, much like this poem.

laminating those moments within my plastic sheet-brain

You are not the first,
I loved,
Or even maybe
The last,
(I lie, you're the one)

I want your heart,
To capture,
Your soul, such
Sweet rapture,
(I swear, you can trust in me)

I wait in the spaces,
Distances between,
Land & sea, left
Caged unfree,
(I promise, you set me free)

Maybe we once met,
Birthday parties,
Smiling & laughing, kids
Skating parks,
(Remember how you saved me)

You sent me a smile,
Guiding me,
Holding my hand, you
Lifted me,
(Did I even thank you)

Always admiring your,
Relentless determination,
A mere stranger, who
You loved,
(I love you more)

I know this is past,
Imagined insane,
Know you now, my
Clambering mind,
(Are you just a dream)

I fell in love with you,
First sight,
No turning back, a
Massive attack,
(Did we meet at another time)

To find you back in,
My sight,
That first night, a
Drawing mind,
(Dreamscape, dreamscape, dreamscape)

You are all that I,
Dream of,
Every single night, when
You're quiet,
(Let it be, let it be, let it be)

You are all that matters to me,
as honest as the words I type,
sing,
or write.
I don't ever want to see,
you out of sight.
You seem so familiar,
a stranger set alight,
I see from afar,
someone known in flight.

© Sia Jane

Look at this terrible and beautiful
monster we've made
and look at the name we've given it.
Look daddy, at all the blood
daddy can you see it
See the blood
and all the broken flowers
Daddy can we keep it?
Can it be our pet?

Please daddy, it will stay in my room
and you won't even know its there
and if you want to you can name it
It really is quite friendly
Look it lets me stroke it

Daddy please i know you have one too
you can't hide it from me
I've seen it
and sometimes i steal it, and
it sleeps in my room
and now i just want one of my one

daddy please don't hurt it
no daddy please
all I want is to keep it
i feed it and it only bites me a little
I will just hide it under my bed if you say no
its mine now

Look
I kept it all this time.