Sandra Cisneros Inspired Poetry
Peaches—
Six in a Tin Bowl, Sarajevo
from My Wicked Wicked Ways
If peaches had arms
surely they would hold one another
in their peach sleep
And if peaches had
feet
it is sure they would
nudge one another
with their soft peachy feet.
And if peaches could
they would sleep
with their dimpled head
on the other’s
each to each.
Like you and me.
And sleep and sleep.
Livers
by Delia DeCourcy
If chicken livers had
voices
surely they would ask me
“Why do you cook us so long
then feed us to the dog?”
We are a delicacy, they screech,
a Jewish tradition, a craving
for pregnant women.
And if chicken livers
had hands
it is sure they would poke each other
with plump pink fingers when I ask
my dog at dinner time:
“Want some livers?”
in a clown-like question,
circus tent big in its volume
and drama.
And if chicken livers
could
they would remain in tact
and raw red, more like an exposed
heart
than the dense organ, finely
chopped,
that seasons my canine’s kibble.
Like any sensible liver
Who enjoys its work.
Pumpkin Eater
from Loose Woman
I'm no
trouble.
Honest to God I'm not.
I'm not
the kind of
woman
who telephones in the middle of the night,
--who told you that?--
splitting the night like machete.
Before and after. After. Before.
No, no, not me.
I'm not
the she who
slings words bigger than rocks,
sharper than Houdini knives,
verbal Molotovs.
The one who did that--yo no fui--
that wasn't me.
I'm no hysteric,
terrorist,
emotional anarchist.
I keep inside a pumpkin shell.
There I do very well.
Shut a blind eye to where
my pumpkin eater romas.
I keep like fruitcake.
Subsist on air.
Not a worry nor care.
Please.
I'm as free for the taking
as the yes of Saint Lucy.
No trouble at all.
I swear, I swear, I swear.