Valentina Cano

Valentina Cano is  a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either reading or writing. 

Midnight

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