Bridge Called Water
By Diana Marie Delgado
I wrote hard
on paper
at the bottom
of a pool
near a canyon
where the stars
slid onto their bellies
like fish
I wrote:
…
I went through
the mountain
through the leaves
of La Puente
to see the moon
but it was too late
too long ago
to walk on glass.
…
Near those years
when the house fell on me
my father told me
draw mom
in bed with
another man—
…
From a plum tree
the sound of branches
fall like fruit
I’m older
no longer afraid
my voice like water
pulled from the well
where the wind had been buried
where someone was always
running into my room
asking, what’s wrong?
--------
My Tuesday was not very eventful apart from laundry, squirrels, taking a walk in the chilly late afternoon, and watching Star Trek: Voyager's terrible awful "Darkling" -- the completion of the Non-Con Trilogy of the third season, when, two weeks after Vorick forces pon farr on her, Torres gets medically paralyzed by the Doctor's dark side and once again she's supposed to smile and forgive him because It Wasn't His Fault, same as Kes is supposed to forgive him, though we're all supposed to despise Riley for manipulating Chakotay into saving her ex-Borg collective.
We ate leftover veggie gumbo with bread and cheese for dinner, which was a lot better than the episode. Then we watched I Want You Back, which is a romantic comedy I guess? I mean, it ends with 4/6 of the main characters apparently in relationships, which in Shakespeare counts as comedy, though I thought it was pretty unfair to the two Hispanic characters and I always think the women in most rom-coms deserve so much better than the available men. Here are some photos from McCrillis Gardens on Sunday afternoon before the Super Bowl but after the morning snow:
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