Monday, April 30, 2012

Cisneros-Inspired 2

                Abuelito Who
                Sandra Cisneros

    Abuelito who throws coins like rain
                and asks who loves him
                who is dough and feathers
                who is a watch and glass of water
                whose hair is made of fur
                is too sad to come downstairs today
                who tells me in Spanish you are my diamond
                who tells me in English you are my sky
                whose little eyes are string
                can't come out to play
                sleeps in his little room all night and day
                who used to laugh like the letter k
                is sick
                is a doorknob tied to a sour stick
                is tired shut the door
                doesn't live here anymore
                is hiding underneath the bed
                who talks to me inside my head
                is blankets and spoons and big brown shoes
                who snores up and down up and down up and down again
                is the rain on the roof that falls like coins
                asking who loves him
                who loves him who?


Let's see if it looks any different when it's my musings on another person's life, not my own:

                Madre Who
                Kelsie Baab

    Madre who pours love down the drain
                and asks for nothing back
                who is perfume and fingernails
                who is a cup of coffee in the morning
                whose skin is soft as satin
                is too busy to come outside today
                who tells me she's proud of my every move
                who tells me you are my sunshine
                whose button-eyes are shining
                won't come out to play
                stays in her little room all day
                who used to laugh like a mockingbird
                is away
                is a budding flower in rainy May
                is tired locked the door
                doesn't come out anymore
                is hoarding things beneath the bed
                whose memories waltz inside my head
                is sweat pants and jogging shoes
                who runs upstairs and downstairs up and down and up again
                is a cotton ball cloud in the sky
                asking for nothing but love
                nothing, love you.

Again, hm... I'm not sure how I feel that one turned out.  I'll retire for the night and revisit it in the morning.

1 comment:

  1. I feel the "Madre Who" poem was forced to take on a sad tone because I adhered to Cisneros' format. I wrote another one last night about my husband (Peter who), and I strayed from the form a little more. I was able to make it more playful and fun. It would be a disservice to my madre to keep this one like it is. Alas, I don't have time to fix it now.

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