Tuesday, January 27, 2015


What is traveling for?
Looking for a piece on earth
looking for a peace place

I'm American
I wouldn't even know how
Slam poetry about my ancestors

The Holy Land is about as big as NJ
My best friend sister wife 
she's Jewish, Montclair NJ
this land is her land with a Haifa Uncle

I was just a spy in the Jews-only desert
I am also even a spy in the NM desert
I never remember the stories and I have to ask again and again, embarrassed

driving through Galisteo with mom
Where The Valencias Lived In The Late 1600s
cluster of old houses stone wood adobe
The little church
the dogs behind fences
no one around

Juanita my great great grandmother
was taken away by who? A Valencia? 
A pueblo Indian? at 15 years old?
scooped up off her family's ranch to be a bride 
I just picture my self at 15 
in a pioneer posture

Can you imagine being taken away on horseback at 15
my mom asks
I think I would've accepted anything at 15 years old
I thought I wanted to get married at 15 years old

I'm ready to get married now
to live in my ancestral peace desert
the NM one
yellow grass grown around brittle stones
we don't speak much in the car
I ask about the cacti
those are cholla

the cholla are black because it's winter 
hunched over like vulture piles with yellow flowers
and there are black cows
so black they look like holes cut out of the field
pretty things

Dusty tinsel of roadside memorials
a ghostly nativity scene in white christmas lights 

ask more about our family with land and livestock
I want dirt and horses
a porch to an endless rugged scape
There is even a historic saloon in Lamy called 
Legal Tender Saloon!
my favorite term

Slam poetry about my ancestors
where do I really come from 
I'm always stuck in the cracks
I wear my home in my heart

pledge allegiance to My Bed
speak through other people's signs
It's all on foot to me
it's all walking through it

Thursday, January 1, 2015

old year

Any place can become an ugly place
Ugly places can become pretty
The young pink bathroom becomes gray and lazy
The tiles used to be wet candy

There was an elegant little forest
When the leaves all drop 
you see how short the distance is 
through the forest to the trucks on a road

I like the trucks and the forest
I remind myself
I like the tiles and the trucks and the forest

If I were a surgeon would I be unable to focus at work
Like all the other jobs
Would I still get that feeling like there was nothing behind my face
Would I forget what I was doing with my hands

I have lots of dreams about my school
I don't have any fantasies about what school can be anymore
I want a car (I don't even know what a car looks like)
But I have a fantasy about a car