Art, Poetry, books, novels

Monday, May 14, 2012

http://www.marcopoloartsmag.com/#Lost-Angeles
My poem Lost Angeles in Marco Polo Arts Magazine












Lost Angeles

Adam speaks now.

In sentences, not only pointing, expressing hunger or the need to potty. The moment happened in between answering emails, and smelling meatloaf. A divination performed without a rod.

“Is it still edible, or goes to the dogs, or will it bring bad omens?”

A kite found.

I am no expert at flying, you have the pilot license, my wings clipped. A parakeet hops on the granite countertops tossed aside. My lost angel wings from Halloween sold in the garage sale.

“I determine to glide the thin hawk.”

Adam speaks now.

“Mom ’les go to Crestwood Hills Park. You run fast.” He brings the string wadded up, “No stroller, I’m a big boy.” It’s a simple kite, not a tetrahedral box of infinite variant. I cut messengers arcs of origami pieces of lavender paper. Neat slits in the centers thread holes. The string slides through to the prayer button.

“ ’les put a note to Dad on them.”

A respectable height.

We count slug bugs. Adam waves at the man with cardboard sign: Maps to Stars homes. The smell of summer dirt mixes on Adams hands and pocket rocks in the washing machine. Los Angeles County court system does not adjudicate to the best interests of children.

“I am blessed with hours never to be replaced by ghosts or movies.”

Adam speaks now.

“Mom, mmm peanut butter. My kite’s great.” He pats the thin frame before my dash. Down the hill, I sail pulled by the framework towards heaven. Catching wind chants my parachute propelling on L.A. Westside air. My breath blows night blooming jasmine, “Jupiter and Venus dance together in the sky.”

We lift off.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Drive in Writing Your New Life

This white canvas represents the remainder of your life.
Please fill in the blanks with important information.
Tell me about how it feels to hold your only child,
 share the fading sorrow of losing your first goldfish,
dare to try something, and fail horribly; then get up,
smile while we work until our legs cramp at night.
Create stories to make us
stay up all night with a flashlight.

Together
we can fix it.
Ask me,
I will pray
for your courage,
wisdom and
a little fortune.


Copyright Caroline Gerardo 2012