Two Poems from Bird Eating Bird
Language Poetry / Grandma's English
by Kristin Naca
Dos / doze / those / toes shuffle through my head
when Grandma speaks, consonants blurred
from her mouth a flat tire. Unable to make out
each word I try reading lips, What / that / cat woman,
but end up lost. Her lips relaxed, bursts of sound
fretting through them. You muddy her, Grandma barks
at my father. You muddy her, she drives you grazy.
A child, I love their arguments, never fully
understanding what Grandma means when
she tells Dad, She get you rosin / rousing / rosing.
You watch. She geep driving you grazy. Though
I do get when Grandma says, / gahng /, for can,
and when she says, /gahng /, for can't.
When she curses, wants sympathy -- like,
/Gahng / it raw meet. It gives you gancer.
Look it's / rrrud /, she blusters. Her r
like she's starting a lawn mower. / Rrraw / meat,
Charlie, she argues, shows it to my father.
Marinade, he answers. And Grandma gives up.
A martyr she says, Go on, it it. Her tongue
forcing sparks from our household English.
Beauty when she grabs her chest and sighs,
I gahng go up dos stairs, Charlie. My art, my art!
_________________________________________________
The Adoration at El Montan Moter Lodge
by Kristin Naca
A leathery tobacco stain where her knuckle creases.
Limón in the taco grease licked off of lovers' fingers.
Tonight the sheets will yellow beneath the dim light bulbs.
A yellow kiss, love plagues the Earth.
How water from the marred glass roughens her top lip.
Exhaust the nylon rug kicks up. The pink sink. The mirror above the sink
that forces a ripple through her gut. the smile that's a water-stain on the
smoky curtains. A pillow that --for the most part--lovers use for balanc-
ing. the cataract bluing the tube inside the ancient TV set. The showers
that run all day and swell the hallway with their sweat. the dewy pillow
against her face. A plague of love upon her.
For hours the lovers' feet kick at the woozy nightstand.
Santa Biblia in gold leaf on the good book on the nightstand.
Brown nipples that start to fade as she ages, that metallic pussy smell,
how the grain of her cunt toughens around her fingers when she comes,
the veneer of as a mouth.
Blood that starts to slough off once her breath has dried it to her lips.
Combing fingers through the red carpet fronds, searching for her glasses.
Side-by-side the blisters raise in the shape of teeth.
by Kristin Naca
Dos / doze / those / toes shuffle through my head
when Grandma speaks, consonants blurred
from her mouth a flat tire. Unable to make out
each word I try reading lips, What / that / cat woman,
but end up lost. Her lips relaxed, bursts of sound
fretting through them. You muddy her, Grandma barks
at my father. You muddy her, she drives you grazy.
A child, I love their arguments, never fully
understanding what Grandma means when
she tells Dad, She get you rosin / rousing / rosing.
You watch. She geep driving you grazy. Though
I do get when Grandma says, / gahng /, for can,
and when she says, /gahng /, for can't.
When she curses, wants sympathy -- like,
/Gahng / it raw meet. It gives you gancer.
Look it's / rrrud /, she blusters. Her r
like she's starting a lawn mower. / Rrraw / meat,
Charlie, she argues, shows it to my father.
Marinade, he answers. And Grandma gives up.
A martyr she says, Go on, it it. Her tongue
forcing sparks from our household English.
Beauty when she grabs her chest and sighs,
I gahng go up dos stairs, Charlie. My art, my art!
_________________________________________________
The Adoration at El Montan Moter Lodge
by Kristin Naca
A leathery tobacco stain where her knuckle creases.
Limón in the taco grease licked off of lovers' fingers.
Tonight the sheets will yellow beneath the dim light bulbs.
A yellow kiss, love plagues the Earth.
How water from the marred glass roughens her top lip.
Exhaust the nylon rug kicks up. The pink sink. The mirror above the sink
that forces a ripple through her gut. the smile that's a water-stain on the
smoky curtains. A pillow that --for the most part--lovers use for balanc-
ing. the cataract bluing the tube inside the ancient TV set. The showers
that run all day and swell the hallway with their sweat. the dewy pillow
against her face. A plague of love upon her.
For hours the lovers' feet kick at the woozy nightstand.
Santa Biblia in gold leaf on the good book on the nightstand.
Brown nipples that start to fade as she ages, that metallic pussy smell,
how the grain of her cunt toughens around her fingers when she comes,
the veneer of as a mouth.
Blood that starts to slough off once her breath has dried it to her lips.
Combing fingers through the red carpet fronds, searching for her glasses.
Side-by-side the blisters raise in the shape of teeth.
Comments
Post a Comment