Sunday, March 27, 2011

Valentina Cano

Valentina Cano is  a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either reading or writing. 
Speaking of pillows,
mine has flown the coop,
a sack of air and sweat
that’s taken flight.
It hides under my bed
scooping and mingling
with the irritated dust.
Forming balls of rebellion.
Pitch forks readying.
It crouches by the door,
its tail of wakeful hours
slashing at the wall
as it waits for a chance
to tangle up more thoughts.
My pillow has learned
the mechanics of temperature,
of manipulation by degrees,
of frozen ears and dry lips.
It can turn into goblets of
blue-tinged pills
or it can hide blades
in the edges of cotton.
Miniature machine guns
in a random war,
consciousness hovering over
like a stifling sun.
-Valentina Cano

The Revenge of Plastics
My skirt is a canopy of swirling masses
hiding bulges and tucks,
setting eyes tumbling after it.
I scoop them up and into my pail,
eyes gaping like dead fish
waiting for a suck of sea water.
I glide away,
my pail in cahoots with my thighs,
bouncing ideas off each other,
hooting the steps away.
I lay my smelly pail on the ground.
I clear away a space,
push the dirt away like dandruff
and set my loyal container on the mound.
Rocks surround it,
like worshippers,
like soldiers,
like mobs.
I cackle and unweave my steps,
praying fervently for rain.
-Valentina Cano

No comments:

Post a Comment