Ghosts, Spirits, Poltergeists
An echo in memory, trauma, and presence.
Cries and words become whispers and silence.
We cannot see you clearly,
We don’t always know why you remain,
We imagine you there to sour results.
The cruel seek profit from you,
The good aim to respect and appease you,
The fearful aim to exorcize and banish you.
You cling to this world just as hard
As Death’s grip on our fates.
May you find peace and rest
In your eternity.
La Llorona
You were just a girl,
Heart dreaming of roses, love, and happiness.
You could barely control yourself
When that hermano guapo arrived in town
On his strong Spanish stallion wearing the latest Parisian fashion.
It got worse when once he walked towards you
—Only you, out of all the girls in the village—
And gave you a ruby-red rose.
You had no choice but to chase after him,
Following him for miles and miles away from home,
So deep in romance that you forgot how sore and tired your limbs became,
And that he didn’t offer you either a seat on his saddle or a chance to rest.
You wanted to be those princesses in those fairytales,
You wanted to have a prince that will treat and worship you,
You wanted him to be love himself
So you let him plant two seeds into your earth
And swallowed his promise to return.
Alone,
Waiting,
A woman, a mother,
You raised those flowers on your own,
Giving your heart to their cries and smiles,
Constantly distracting you from the tales and rumours
Surrounding their handsome father.
When he finally comes back,
You rush towards him with flowers and love
But he ignores you,
He stares at your boys for a moment,
He walks right past you and gives a ruby-red rose to a young girl.
To shocked to scream,
You wander in a daze of broken dreams and naïve wishes
Until your legs gave out at the edge of the riverbank.
You spot the bastard some distance next to you,
You spot the charlatan some distance next to you
And you could barely stop running towards him,
Strangling him, pushing him under the streams of your tears…
Then your eyes woke up
And he was them
and them was your flowers wilted
and your mauled flowers were your sons’ lifeless . . .
You wailed
You wailed
You wailed
You wailed,
Horror and grief ripped your soul from your body
To become a ghost in white and chains
Voice always crying “Mis ninos! Mis ninos!”
Darkness
Imagination is my realm, always.
Your dreams and fears are born in my realm
Where the salvation of light and knowledge always dies.
I am every monster you think you heard behind you.
I am the world that both refuses and begs to be explored.
I am the spark that brings life to the empty.
I am creativity born and unbound and universal.
Monster, Demon, Oni, Devil
It always seems the fate for different
Is to become creatures.
In this life full of terror and fear,
So quick do suspicion and rumour
Become fact and folklore.
Some are evil and punished.
Some are hated and shunned.
Some are good and misjudged.
Both the nature and the nurture
Provide birthing scars and trauma
For all.
The outcasts, the outsider
Unwilling done the mask
But the humanity—
their complexity and contradictions,
Their grotesque beauty—
Remain in the eyes and heart
For the curious to find and witness.
Changeling
Mama, Papa,
I love you.
Mama, Papa,
I love the lullabies you sing to me.
Mama, Papa,
I love your warm meals.
Mama, Papa,
I love the clothes you give me.
Mama, Papa,
I love your hugs and laughs.
Mama, Papa,
Why do you cry when you look at me?
Mama, Papa,
Why are you angry at me?
Mama, Papa,
Why do you say I’m stolen?
Mama, Papa,
Why do you say I’m the wrong one?
Mama, Papa,
What did I do wrong?
Mama, Papa,
It hurts.
Mama, Papa,
It really really really hurts.
Mama, Papa,
I promise to be a good child.
Mama, Papa,
I promise I’ll do all my chores.
Mama, Papa,
I love you so much.
Mama, Papa,
Where are you taking me?
Mama, Papa,
I don’t wanna go.
Mama, Papa,
I want to stay.
Mama, Papa,
Don’t leave me.
Mama, Papa,
I wanna go home.
Dana Trick - A first-generation Mexican-Canadian-American autistic
biromantic-demisexual with ADHD, Dana Trick lives in Southern California where
it is clearly foolish to wear black every day. Besides writing, she
spends/wastes her day by either reading weird books; researching history
because she has a history degree; drawing art and comics that she posts on
deviantART under Silencedbook9; and watching cartoons, anime, and Youtube
videos. Her work has been published online--Art of Autism, the Lothlorien
Poetry Journal, The Kolkata Arts, The Writer Shed, Anvil Tongue Books,
confetti, The Writers Club, and The Ugly Writers, Confetti—as well as in print
anthologies by The Poets’ Choice and Wingless Dreamer; The Moorpark College
Print Review; Other Worldly Women Press’ Behind Closed Doors; Free
Spirit’s Historic Tales; Dragoon Soul Press’ Organic Ink
Volume 5; The Ravens Quote Press’ Balm 2; Quillkeepers Press’ Inspired;
and RAW: Race & Disability Zine Anthology. She wishes the reader
a nice day.
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