Pear

I ate an asian pear this evening

bit into it in the bathroom

unable to wait to do things properly

the scent of rose

as I washed it under faucet

saying vespers that you're blessed

healed and whole

juice and crisp satisfaction

sole owner of that bliss

you introduced me to

sense of humor and timing

I valued in you

skillful in your craft

unable I was, to offer a life raft

years have passed, four

and my memories blur

but I was a different girl back then

and the woman I am today

has different friends.

(c) Maria Enns 2013 all rights reserved

Flounder, flounder! [The Others]

It frustrates me to see others flounder;
to flutter between help and detachment,
assist or with love, let go
acknowledge that others have refused help
as oft as it's been offered.

El otro, the secret
sneaking beneath her strap
thinking there is a map for
this sort of thing.

I had a dream last night
that I was on a stage
with others
and knew no lines.
Realized they all held scripts
and grabbed mine,
saw all the colors
it was printed with
CMYK, he told me
back when I knew nothing about
just about
everything.

Longed to be knowing
but could never see myself so
we traversed the city
talking in ways unique to:
stalin-drenched disappointments
cherry blossom ice cream cones
pictures of natives taken by tourists.
Conversing on what it'd be like
if I were grown, yet still unknown
were his thoughts and the lies I could see
labeled like test tubes over irises.

The others, she said don't breathe a word
every day is lyrics, I was schooled on
how to communicate, and thought
I was cool, it was exciting for a moment-
until it crumpled - stiff paper in a fire,
waiting for the weakness to overcome
completely.

I was still strong then. I envy my young self.
Yet I know so much now.
What price did I pay?
Strength + knowledge = weakness, loneliness
paralysis, insanity... humanity.

Every cheesy joke
coalesces and coagulates
by necessity, into this verse
keep what I need, I will
and I can let go of
all the Others.


(c) Maria Enns 2013 all rights reserved

Shadow Cat

The Cat who leaps is not the cat who lands... or so they say.
More true this is when focus is on a shadow's play.
The feline leaping is of flesh and fur,
though at landing is an intangible blur.
The meow not from a shade emits-
as grimalkin elects to have her fits.
She sees a squirrel and gnashes it to bits
-In shadowland-
with hisses and fierce spits.
My cat is lovelier than her silhouette,
though she does naught to damage it.

(c) Maria Enns 2013 all rights reserved.

Capture

Just as I try to photograph a shadow,
it turns and mocks me to the ground.
What business have I to rely
on scoffing shadows,
of bottles I didn't drink down.

The same goes for tellings of stories;
I have to trust when it comes to the punch
that I will remember the point of the tale,
that I didn't forget not to eat it for lunch.


(c) Maria Enns 2013, all rights reserved

I Remember You

These warm January days, juicy with rain
remind me of summer nights, on my own
A Baltimore apartment, a loft more like
in another life, with dancing bones
and 'Mack the Knife' spinning on the table
working 'cause I'm able, 
Cat is in the pantry sleeping like the gentry
Cereal trails telling me who's been where
one lucky charm here, cascade of cheerios there
Love is in the air.


(c) Maria Enns 2013, all rights reserved.

Vacuum-Sealing via Peanut-Butter

Peanut butter and milk, or hemp milk as I prefer,

should always be consumed in the same sentence,

so as to prevent the throat sticking together.

Just because I referenced a 'sentence' does not make this 'writing', nor poetry,

nor worthy of reading-- it's because I am a woman,

that fact makes this worth reading. No, really. Because I am a woman,

and now you know what women think about, at least what this woman thinks about

at 2:13 in the morning… My mind floats to writing, to peanut butter-eating,

to preventing myself vacuum-sealing via peanut butter.

And you are reading this because I am a woman. This interests you because,

you are another woman, or you are not- and you wish to know how we function.

I think of vacuums, writing, peanut butter, poetry, sisterhood and street harassment.

Of expanding the themes on which we write and are read, as women who think.

"A Peanut-Butter Woman, are we now, Madame?"

All the nuts in the world could not shut me up, nor vacuum-seal my opinions.

And it is our responsibility to take interest in how each-other functions.

I believe that you are becoming equal to what I am living, my opinions.

My integrity holds you by the millions, rapt attentions to my good intentions.

Hear, I stand, a woman worth reading, because now you know how

I am thinking.

(c) Maria Enns 2012, All rights reserved.

Frankenstrong

It's a strange sort of overcast
Foreboding feels like my last
Sit and sort the furnishings
Fort made of my ligatures
Subtle signs and signatures
Didg-ing more to sleep better
Your denial lingers here.

What could plans have made of us?
Past, tense, jawing, gratiatus
No ambushes, hear me thus;
I want you I'm made of dust-
Call direct, don't make a fuss.

My love, the depth of which is certain
Unknown, and made to draw a curtain;
still holds a passion and a flicker
though you continue to grow sicker.

Giving up. I'm moving now
Holding up, somehow.

Tornado, get along.


http://soundcloud.com/brightsparklymess/frankenstrong

(c) Maria Enns 2012