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The First

The First

Cold sweat fractures sleep no place to lay burden down racism stifles dreams slights insults stick alone inside rage rattles   cannot let people down chorus of voices echo do not resist back of bus bumped flights lost accommodations   first time in play fans gawk great black hope swings bat Crack! home run run […]

Oh to Sing

Oh to Sing

Oh to sing! To Eric Whitacre Oh to sing! To have been born with the ability ever so easily to unleash – like the rain, or a Lyre bird, or, in late summer, the cicadas – a cascade of beautiful sound. But that is not my gift. Instead I must rest content to craft my […]

Grandmother’s Insomnia

Grandmother’s Insomnia

Grandmother’s Insomnia by Thelma T. Reyna   She awaits daylight on the skinny edge of her daughter’s cot, rolled away in mornings, at night a rusty sentry in the spidered corner of the hall. Like a wax figure melting, she sinks to her knees, now permanently ahead from prayer, her paper lips whispering the Credo, […]

Special

Special

                    A clam shell rises from watery depths, she’s a beauty, her strawberry blonde adorned by rosebuds wrapping her waist. The museum label reads: Botticelli, “Venus,” this what must be meant by peaches and cream. Her face, that pure. I count three eyes, knowing people will […]

Scribblings: Week 25

Scribblings: Week 25

Back in the day, when I had a yard and a garden, I spent more hours than I ever spent in a church on my knees. And while no organ might boom, no priest intone, no choir sing, and no stained glass window throw rainbows across the back of a pew, I prayed. I prayed […]

Rosita’s Hands

Rosita’s Hands

Rosita’s Hands by Thelma T. Reyna   Rosita’s hands soaked in the early morning suds, the scalding pinking her skin as she swooshed and swirled the scouring pad and scrubbed pans until they sparkled. Then her prune0skin hands wiped baby’s face, peach oatmeal sticking on Allegra’s chin and rosebud mouth, dangling like mushy earrings on […]

Crickets

Crickets

  “Crickets” by Thelma Reyna   Crickets detest silence. They’re sirens with nonstop trills that sunder the summer air as they tear me, too. Crickets moan, and I recollect sultry Texas nights and fights with my man under trees in a foresaken park, making love while crickets shamed the dark, or crying alone on the […]

Ancestors Dance

Ancestors Dance

  Eagle migrated to the lands of the Ice Tribe. Diffused patches of light sparkled on his wings. Among the greenish glow of the northern lights Native ancestors danced in the next life. Sealskin boots stomped and turned on a floor lit by stars. Eagle thanked the sky for this gift of colors. Asked the […]

To Charles Bukowski: About Poems

To Charles Bukowski: About Poems

We welcome Thelma Reyna and thank her for contributing a poem to “Write Here.”         “To Charles Bukowski: About Poems” by Thelma Reyna “if (a poem) doesn’t come bursting out of you… if it never does roar out of you… unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket… don’t do […]

I’m From…

I’m From…

    I’m from mountains and sycamore trees, from white oleomargarine that needs to be massaged with yellow coloring. I’m from homemade sandwiches to take to school for lunch. I’m from an unlocked house that is empty from morning to dinnertime, and I spend time there or at my grandma’s house next door after school […]

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