Three Poems by Louisa Muniz

 

 

Gone Missing

Who are we without the birds & bees,

the turtles & trees?

 

The world unravels a little more

each time a species goes extinct.

 

Yet, without warning, God’s gone missing.

Could it be: seeking answers for the endangered species?

 

Could it be: manning a backup plan for the race,

shepherding for iCloud space?

 

It’s that time of year when amber light spills

onto the green growing world.

 

This is how it is: wherever I go, there I am.

I name God in the magnolia, maple & willow,

 

some days in the raven, robin, wren.

I’ve spent a lifetime shouldering the nameless.

 

I’ve spent a lifetime floating aimless,

hung-tight in a helium balloon.

 

I cry myself a river, surrender

to the business of what’s missing.

 

Missing is kindness. It’s what’s missing

in the beating heart of this world.

 

 

Persephone

 

The sun is a jester in an overcast sky.

It glints on the weight of day.

 

I listen for the sound of dark

in the umbra of earth, search the

shadows of gaunt sunken trees.

 

Who says shadows are a danger in dark?

 

If you prefer green things blooming

dancing nymphs in meadows,

seek the church light of youth.

 

Give me lichen, liverwort,

moss and hornwort—

stunted & pond growing,

slow growing in shade.

 

Born again, you taught me

to sharpen my eye,

an owl at night, an octopod

at sea, a cave climbing loach.

 

I refuse to water

the plants, draw the curtains,

turn on the lights. I’m meant

to live in inky fog.

 

Come find me in a larch

of burdened needles—

once gold, now parched,

 

near the Narcissus patch

whispering your name.

 

I’ll pluck you a pomegranate seed

from the mercy of my mouth

from my rib of my burning bones. 

 

 

Invocation      

 

When all is said          & done

when too much           is too much,

 

& enough’s enough    let me    remember    

how prayer softens      the bladed tongue.

 

Let me remember how to—

forgive            forget              forgo.

 

In the midst of purple milkweed,

queen of the prairie

bird of paradise           let me

 

remember       the sound

of a crow’s caw           a raven’s squawk

in morning’s   amber glow.

 

So little time. So much to do.

 

Only yesterday           hasty words

slid from my tongue  a trigger

 

sounding an alarm  I did not remember

to breathe.

 

Let the wrecked

red wagon point          north.

 

Truth be told,  let me  travel

light     under shadows

 

under   the spell

of a moonlit sonata.

 

When I can’t remember

what I’m doing here

 

or how to release

the wind-caught sparrow

 

let me remember         to ponder Rumi—

 

there are hundreds of ways

to kneel           & kiss the ground.

Louisa Muniz lives in Sayreville, N.J. She holds a Master’s in Curriculum and Instruction from Kean University. Her work has appeared in Tinderbox Journal, Palette Poetry, Menacing Hedge, Poetry Quarterly, PANK Magazine, Jabberwock Review and elsewhere. She won the Sheila-Na-Gig 2019 Spring Contest for her poem Stone Turned Sand. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and a Pushcart Prize. Her debut chapbook, After Heavy Rains by Finishing Line Press was released in December, 2020.