Poetry
Poetry
A
Anxiety
1.For days heat made its home on the surface of my skin, but refused to travel
any deeper. I felt the paper thin muscles reinforcing the spaces of my ribcage
fight icicles. But, nothing would thaw the center. I burned my breasts with the water streaming from the hopeless showerhead, shivering as I poached.
2.It’s freezing in the apartment, and my partner wears a sweater and scarf. I’ve stripped down to my panties and bra—sweating, sitting still—trying to catch my breath.
3.The space between the mattress and the thick comforter is a pocket soaked in
the warmth of my kinetic body. We’re talking about my thighs and stretch marks. We’re talking about—
Heat has pooled in the muscles and joints of my hips and legs. I’m jittering it out, freezing and serving as a furnace, simultaneously.
4.I was to read poems today for people.
But, my gut, my over-pumping heart,
Conspired against me. My feet, sensing the coup
At hand, joined the rebel forces, and failed me as well.
5.Someone once told me
that strangers are friends
you haven’t met yet.
6.I am repeatedly asked to defend my position.
B
Is for
borderlands, bridging, breaking, being, busy, babies, boys, bombs, brink, bobbins, bunkers, berries, boulders, boundaries, bounties, benders, bleakness, bleach, birth control, bouncing, branding, begging, buying, breathing, birth, best, boring, best friends,
borrowed, banter, betrayal.
Borders (physical)
Puente is the Spanish word
for bridge. Tamaulipas:
a large washed-out pink
building with flags from both
Texas and Mexico, places
to exchange money lining the way.
Pacing at the bridge’s threshold—
they carry machine guns, or
at least Reynosa is a sauna.
Borders (not)
Here I will be in—
Here I will devour
Here here here
My body—a match—my body
the slope of a mountain
carving a territory both unruly
and fully mapped
C
Comal
4 cups of flour
into a large bowl, sprinkle
a ½ teaspoon salt, 1/8 tea-
spoon baking powder
Agitate.
manteca (i am six)
goes in last (the stove clicks and roars)
(My mother says only yankees use
vegetable shortening instead of real lard.)
(linoleum can be cool or warmed)
(my mother is a gringa)
It resists the flour.
1 cup and 1 tablespoon of warm water
Mess out of the bowl.
(and i am six again) onto the sandy
counter. (I imitate the motions:)
shoulders pressed behind elbows and wrists;
heels of hands, like bodies to the soft earth.
Let it breathe. It is alive.
The comal is ready when sprinkled
drops of water vanish
immediately in hot ecstasy. Watch
the white disc breathe to life
on iron, distended belly
and growing with trapped steam.
(i think of Adam.
and bodies of dirt.
and breaking your own rib.
and, i am not allowed to use my fingers
and am handed the spatula. a turned back,
and i am running a thumb along
the hadean surface just to see
if it actually burns.)
Approximately 30 seconds on each side;
the first is longer than the second.
Bio: Kristin Cerda
Kristin Cerda’s written work has appeared in print and online publications including Chronometry, [out of nothing], Omnia Vanitas Review, and her hybrid poetic text lives at WretchedSymphony.com. She holds degrees from Naropa University and CalArts. Currently, she is finishing two manuscripts while arting and momming in Austin, Texas.