Cristina Tuluca , Poet

Sliver

A sliver of life
I smudge the fog from the window
Our car is a brown spot on a canvas of crisp blue
We roll along, tires pulling at the wet paint of mem'ry
She sucks a cigarette in the front seat
Honeyed smoke coils like a snake
She says, words dragging from her mouth,
closethewindow. Itscold
I wind the window up, a pane of slime and fingerprints glazing
Over the long slender bars of cloud in the sky
We stop, the tires slide on the black road, and the canvas
Of crisp blue rolls along.

Childhood's End

In cusp of leaves, green and mottled
Dew drops
Drop
Drop
And bathe the fairy-child


A sliver of light cuts into the darkness
Behind the door, pink toes wiggle
Drip
Drip
Soap suds silently slip


Night mantle on, white shoulders still
An unborn song on lips
The fairy weaves of dreams
Dreams
Dreams
A blanket for your eyes


A sliver of darkness cuts into the light
Under covers, dirty socks warm
Breathe
Breathe
Tomorrow will soon come

Like worlds compressed, in gentle sway,
Quiescent pools in orbs
Will keep their place and tears
Tears
Tears
Will not seep down your cheeks
When dawn arrives and fairy-child
Forever disappears

Music

What if
I found an empty box
And filled it with words

What if
I cut a hollow tree
And stuffed it with pencils

What if
I saw a yawning fire
And threw in empty pages

Then I would stand by the river
With no words, no pencils, and no pages

I would listen to the language
Of the glassy slopes

I would hear the winds whine
Squeezing through sunlight

To say hello
Perhaps I would hum three notes
And you would understand

Still, with no language
I would smile
Because you and I would always have music
Even if it is the dirge.

Still Life

Broken shards of an evening sunglow
Cut patterns on the waxed kitchen floor.
My mother, bent over a pot of stew
Pulls the spoon through globs of melted vegetables.
Slabs of meat defrost on the counter.
The clock tick tick ticks.
Tick.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Another withered leaf drops,
Rings around
Drops down.
Ashes, ashes,
We all drop down.
The crocus eyes the damp, tangy metal sink.
The refrigerator screeches in monotone.
The sister whines.
"BEEP"
Mother pulls on oven mitts.
The oven mitts have a tired history,
Cindered, Holed, Bruised.
The turnovers smell of sweet after-rain.
Look out the large glass doors into the unconscious night.

Fires of Summer

Ashes of a slow-flowing star seep through the muted night
Branches of darkness flare leaves
Mists of iridescence cascade
Billows of light embrace the tree
Now alive with glory
Now alive with splendor
Now alive with fireflies

Tick

I glance at the clock
Its neon blaring lights blink back

Sleep has shook its furry head
And grabbed my ankles

I kick him away for
The study of electron affinity

Is more important than to
Flap my eyelids like the

Wings of a hummingbird and
Then click closed like

The latch of a jewelry box
Tomorrow my jewels will not

Be so shining, rather ruddy and
Dull, scraping across gravel

You know

My feet didn't touch the ground
When I saw those hot stars, pricked through a black canvas
Have you ever wondered, wrapped in the cloth of darkness
how you can keep on breathing?

I stood there, just like you, and if I wanted to,
I could have dabbled my fingers in the universe.
I could have dipped my hands into that swirling syrup, blacker than any oil

But I laid down on the grass,
fabric shred from dead, cold things

I echo in a room of music
Only the stars can be violins

I lay watching honeyed silence drip from the sky.
Then, the wind shivered into the dark firs behind me
Swaying them into rhythmic dances from long ago, scraping against the sky

If I listened closely I could understand
Words tumbling forth, tumbling forth

tumbling forth, tumbling forth
Only on a dark night like that can you understand

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