May 15th

At the garden every thing was

Soft

roses innumerable regal impossible

With vibrant colors and vibrant names

And vibrantly dressed admirers circling

So benign and contented

I came to pray on the day of my

Lady Saint

For protection and for strength

Made a shrine beneath the

Sufficiently hidden rose pink blooms

A tangerine to please her sight

A mirror to catch the sunlight

Incense of pine and in a perfume bottle

My own blood drawn by my long knife

The bottle was a gift from my grandmother

And the blood was just the same

I clutched her rosary and my medallion

And felt that I was begging

May 17th

Covered in last night’s mosquitos’ red welts

I am eyeing silk orchids on the dresser-top.

Bathed of last night’s red earth hammock sleep

I find myself in Wedgwood blue sheets

Itching and scratching

I know not who I am talking to

But hear my grandmother’s clacks on the hardwood

her voice, “It’s raining again,”

An ash colored kitten pounces on my gliding feet

Beneath the covers

With wide marine-glass eyes

The song I sung today is wrapping up

A ball of yarn

The long drive south from pine country

To the cypress trees and ocean fog

I smelled the fresh salt water stepping out of my car

And knew that I was there, here, the place which

Cools my seething brain

Perhaps to fall asleep with the light still on

The year I’ve seen has been a storm

And I have always been a shaky bloom

All treat me with delicate care, understanding

As they do the unspoken reasons behind my rheum