"leonora" poems
“There’s a cow at the table,” I whispered, not wanting to be rude.
It’s horns curled like question marks, which seemed quite Apropos
Now that I’ve been to college, I can tell you, there’s a lot that I don’t know.
But a cow at the table, no matter how well dressed, left me, well, confused.
“How do you Dooooo?” I offered, friendships should begin straightforwardly.
When it didn’t answer, I thought, “Well this friendship’s starting off awkwardly.”
Was it hard of hearing? I wondered. “Have you mooooved here recently?” I asked, loudly.
Again, nothing, it just sat there proudly. Did it take my attempt at dialect, as a sign of disrespect?
“Would you like some fooood? I asked, “Some hay maybe?” I was guessing, but it was a guest.
Some friendships start out slowly, but holy-moley, was this livestock trying to troll me?
After some aggravation, and impatience, it turned out to be an elaborate, fraternity initiation.
.
.
*Based on Leonora Carrington’s painting “Then We Saw the Daughter of the Minotaur.”
https://www.moma.org/artists/993-leonora-carrington*
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 11:04 PM UTC
Leonora stands on a balcony, absent-mindedly , all the city life has blurred her ability to stop and devour the city skyline. She stares at her diary flooding with ideas and pieces of writing she doesn't know what she'll do with.
Her attention is filled with ecstacy because of the morning cigarette of thinly wrapped marijuana, she occasionally puffs along with a glass of expensive white wine she barely can afford. She doesn't know it yet but her being lost is her being on track's way. The morning star breaks dawn as she sits on her chair and crumples the pages of her diary writing her recently found adoration of sunrise.
The clothes covering her petite figure, her big unkempt natural afro and barely furnished apartment looks modern but her spirit still roams the valleys of back home.
The Lost One is never lost
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC