Paper Piecing
The pattern’s a mirror image,
recalling those tests in school:
Where will the holes appear
when you unfold the paper?
I’ve learned the lines and colors
take shape in their own time.
Best
not to ask how it works—
just
put right sides together, and sew.
Once the machine is quiet
the final seam feels like a prayer.
Carefully, I press the picture
I’ve painted in fabric and
Peel away the back pages—
scalloped now, along the stitch lines.
Lace edgings curl and fall; questions
drift like snow around my ankles.
Sol y Sombra
From a book stall
near the Prado
a song called Huracán
pulses in rhythm
with sunlight rippling
through leaves
The storm breaks from
her throat, she says, to
the sky: Where are you
when I need you?
Kind of intense, for pop lyrics
even in Spain
Later, I’ll take my picture
with Velazquez
And as my Skechers dance with
sidewalk sun and shadow
I hear someone say, “Sol y sombra”
just as I’m thinking it, too
I remember driving past
the Driscoll’s plant
when my GPS avoided
an accident on the interstate
How I could still smell ripe berries
as I guided my car up
the I-4 West ramp, toward home
How tiny seeds make the skin
sandpapery, when inside the fruit
is soft and sweet
How this might be precisely what
the strawberries
don’t want you to know
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