Mood Melt

It's the snow out 

this old hotel window

that caught my eye

but its the beauty

of their travel downward 

that made me stop

my fretting

as I looked for the papers

I'd dropped by the bed last night

too tired to care 

I began this first day for a job

in a new city and place

thinking

will I like it

will they like me

will I stay

And then paused 

reflecting on how seasons pass

as do my feelings 

of hurt

and my worries

and how snowflakes come 

and they go and they melt 

and they are remembered 

and some stick 

and others don't 

and so can the thoughts that created 

this mood of distrust 

that needed to be stopped in its tracks 

so that I could look out the window

at the silence and beauty of 

drifting snowflakes. 

ERA, downtown Chicago, 1/27/2000

 

Father of Two

I don't know the story behind the fake bill

I know we all shared a society 

coping

poorly with fears of a killer virus

the shutdown exposed how bad it can be

if you aint' got insurance

savings

credit

and now

no work for who knows how long

It was a COVID-19 story

I'm going go the store

did I mention he was black

in a place where the rules of 

organized injustice apply

no way

you can't be black and in lockdown

and try to pass a fake 20

not for any reason at all

not when The Man

can put a knee to yer neck

and suffocate the life outta you

In The Name of the Law

and

In fulfillment of fake justice. 

@elvia rosales arriola (2020)

 

Back Yard

Pebbles and roses

along the path were birds fight

over worms and seed

Metabulus rose

dancing fresh

sickly leaves yellowed 

with black spot.

elvia@2018

 

The Palma Plaza Side of the House 

Bird house swings up down

shaded by the loquat branch

both pushed by fierce winds

Old Chihuahua stares

pees on the Autumn Sage

shall pink flowers fade?

Stronger winds move the chimes

hung on the Chinese tallow

Bird crap also flies.

elvia @2018

 THE PETRA SERIES - DOS

The stitched up toes 

When Petra, my abuela was 97 (circa 1989) she had surgery on her toes for bunions and ancient callouses. 

A woman who was always on her feet working or doing something involving the care of others finally had to sit and heal. 

I sent her a note with a drawing to make her smile that basically said,  With your legs up, if I were there I'd rub your toes, love and affection I'd give you with my hands, with my eyes that miss you I'd read you a story and these lips would pray to God that my sweet grandma get well soon.  I love you so much, your Ponquiria Elvia.  

She proceeded to edit my note, adding some smartass line to every one of mine: 

Not being able to kick anything but my pillows, you say you'd be here but I suspect you'd be out visiting your friends, that massage would certainly make me cry... Ohhhhh, would your eyes prove not to lie that you miss me? Yes, your storytelling would be a healing balm and if God hears your prayer I'll be well again and be able to cook your favorite rice. I hope your prayer is answered because because this ...really hurts. 

 

THE PETRA SERIES 

UNO: 

To Ponquiria from Abuela Petra 

I don't know where the nickname originated.  From the time I was in diapers she called me Ponquiria. Or "Pon" for short. 

I'm digitizing for perpetuity the original cards and letters I have from Petra, my maternal grandmother.  Some of them date to the 1960s, when I was away in boarding school in Guadalajara, Mexico and she was back with her daughter Lucy, my mom and family in Southern California.  

I didn't realize the accomplishment of her writings to me until much later in life, especially after I recorded some of her personal history for a women's history class in the 1980s.  When I learned that Petra never went to school, that she was given a prayer book as a study source for learning to read and write by Sra. Ibarra, the women she worked for as a nannay beginning at age 13 Jala, Nayarit, Mexico.  That the kind woman noticed Petra practicing writing out letters with a stick in the dirt.  What she remembered from bits of teaching by a young woman who brought some learning to the children of La Cofradia, a tiny mountainous hamlet attached to a big hacienda around the late 1890s. 

So when I began to look at abuelita's letters I noticed that punctuation was not always perfect and sometimes the writing was a bit phonetic.  But it worked and I loved it.  

Below is a birthday greeting she sent along with her own words in a rhyme en espanol. 

Te estoy saludando

con mucha alegria

se estuvieras aqui

besos y mas besos te daria

Las estrellas se visten de gala

y la luna se llena de encanto

al saber que hoy es dia de tu Santo

Y que no es ni Elvia ni Raquel sino Rosenda

Rosales Arriola de la cola? OK? 

De tu loca abuela, Petra Rivas.

Mario

Remembering my daddy as he lies in hospice. 

May 14, 2021 

I've been decluttering. And thinking about Dad and how much he says he's tired and ready to go.  But it's still not his time.  Found an old letter from Dad shortly after he visited me in New York City and stayed in my apartment in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.  He met my then girlfriend Clay, and he also met my new kitty cat Rachel.  In old photos it's clear that Rachel is still a kitten.  She'd been born in the spring and this was around the fall.  For sure it's 1985. 

He was a very independent visitor and tourist.  It was a dream for him to see New York City and to have the option to get around by walking or on subway trains.  I'll never forget how he arrived by plane from California to the Newark, New Jersey airport and took the train straight into the World Trade Center.  I had started working at the New York Attorney General's office in the summer.  The Department of Law would vacate those premises by October.   The twin towers are now gone.  Wow.  But in my memory we're still there, I'm working hard as a young lawyer in my beautiful office with large windows that look out on Battery Park and on the Statue of Liberty.  And Dad has called me and I am going down to the lobby to greet him and he's walking through the revolving door with a big big smile on his face.   He had a blast.  It was a big deal for me to introduce him to my new life, as someone involved with a woman.  I didn't have to use the term lesbian.  He figured it out and he was fine.   And I miss that energetic man.   So here's his perky letter to me following that visit: 

'

Pillowed Two

I slept in until 8 am
My eye is really swollen
Today I will go the country
I will order cider slush
for her
for me
and I will send us a picture 
I miss her

I awoke feeling so alone 
in the bed
I wanted to reach for you
and got a pillow
so cold
instead
Yearning for the snuggle
of your warm belly 
against my lower back
better than a heating pad

I reach for a hug
and all I get is mild
scent of you left in the 
unwashed sheet
my mind travels to a 
few days ago
and back again to now
where I keep reaching
for you, for the pillow
pushing away the waking 
moments 
without you.

Please Don't Tell Me

Please don’t tell me.

I remember your sweet hesitant smile
a holding back of words in your heart 
and mind
You would often just blurt out the truth
of your feelings
I remember how you
captured everyone's attention at public events 
with a warm, appealing

sincere voice 

I can’t remember much about
our few dates. 

I was too conflicted. 

I remember the night we first tumbled 
in each other’s arms on 

the extra futon in someone’s

apartment on the East Side 
after a big fundraising party for 

gay social justice 
we drank wine 
talked and talked more 
and then I looked at the clock

it was too late 

to drive back to Brooklyn
or take the subway

Such a convenient excuse 

There you were perky, 

the bright eyed 

Catholic boarding school rebel

now a spokesperson for lesbian rights 

I couldn’t stop 

Didn't stop 

Yeah we kissed

Me first? You?

Each of us saying

"Is this okay?" 
and your OK was 

more confident than mine
because I had a feeling 

that you'd become one more 

Hello and Goodbye 

in the usual dyke drama stories 

linked to my drunken 

forgetting to say 

"oh by the way..."
when I said it was OK 

that we kiss 

I meant 

with me
not with her

you know 

the one who’s been playing house with me for two years 

I remember our passionate tussle
and how we whispered

And giggled as I compared 

this huge Manhattan apartment 

to my cubby hole in Brooklyn  

And how I gently touched those soft lips 

That could speak truth to power 
or sometimes just tremble in anger
as we all fighters for justice 

For dignity to our queer lives 

Observed the ongoing patterns of 

A world leveling hate in our direction 

And even blaming natural disasters

To the existence of openly gay living

And now as I remember you

And the brief moments of US

I do regret that we lost touch

That the years went by 

That you found love and marriage and had kids 

And then vanished only to surface 

In this odd notice in a magazine I rarely pick up

Where it mentioned you 

And your final illness and 

our community’s loss of 

A fearless voice for justice.

And the writer should have mentioned

That you had a beautiful smile and 

Really soft lips.  

Elvia (Sudasini) Arriola 

@Edited (2019) 

Pillowed One

PILLOWED 

I called out to you
in the night
I heard your heartbeat
next to my ear
in my dream
I put my greying curls on your chest
we turned together
towards the light 
of the rainbow clock
but you slept 
ansDI dreamed
and it was just 
a thought 
captured between my unruly sheets
as the you that was only me
a pillow
big and fluffy and warm 
like you 
dropped
to the floor 
and woke me up. 

August

AUGUST

12:23 am
of the last full month
of summer
two dogs snore
near my bed

the busy highway
throbs through the open window

a swoosh from speeding

cars and another from

an ancient ceiling fan

1 a.m.

it’s 93 or more

Loosen up

unwind

avoid frozen shoulder

the poodle’s frizz sways

in the breeze of an open window

how pretty the

ornamental grass

his paws are thick with
river mud
from a first time gallop 
with his new adoptive brother

they ran and kicked up  leaves

pebbles and dirt

along the Town Lake

who are these beings of light covered in fur and hair who

grace us with companionship for the muscled strength
of their short lives

DOG spelled backwards

is G –O - D

melting thoughts

in the heat of this Texas night

fluff the pillows for
the fifth time 

Or

just turn out the light.  

@Austin, TX 2005  (edited 2017)

@Austin 2005
edited 2017

Downstairs Neighbor

Downstairs Neighbor 

The day promises a scorching heat

grackles call out

the bird feeder is empty!

Fidgety squirrel squats on the gutter

peers down

on the lookout for three menacing dogs

who love the chase

a tipped lantern recalls last night's 

gathering of friends around a fire pit

roasting marshmallows

melting chocolate on graham crackers 

silent flowering cacti

embrace a mean sun

and the new season that will anchor them

to the rocky Texan soil

And there she sat

on a patio chair

crawling deeper

everyday into a grieving well

poor economics

bad job

constantly 

stuffed up head 

"I can't fuckin' smell"

she yelled across the yard

Is it worse than the cancer?

Her morning was night and night

The day 

An owl

A hungry panther

pouncing upon the hint

of a hopeful call 

and maybe just maybe 

a different diagnosis 

We heard 

We prayed 

And she roared 

Despair and disappointment

The massive cedars

towering pecan 

the heavy branched elms

could not muffle her wail and cry

for a job

for some hope

or just the simple aroma of

brewing coffee

for acceptance

Listen my sweet to the flutter of wings

Do you hear the fledglings begging for food 

chirp chirp chirp 

They can muffle the sound of a

terminal ticking clock

Ah look, the backyard gate is open
in comes yet another wave 

of untouchable heat about 

to settle with endurance

for another morbid day

into your now empty patio seat. 

Sincerely Yours

I am almost 47
not too tall
not too small
dark eyes like my mother
strong brown hands like my grandmother
a mixture of Creole and Indian bloods
ancestors from a land below rocky mountains
in steamy western jungles,
volcanoes and blackened rocks
from which there now grow corn, brush and maguey

even further back
hardy Iberians who lived by the sea,
fought for their independence
and have preserved a language
if not their dignity

My roots are as wild
as they are stable and strong
My father’s weaknesses were buried
beneath bottle and song
Memories of home can evoke tears and deep pain
though joy is my hope when I venture
the terrain
of discovering an orphan’s search
for a life and the source of wounds
inflicted upon a child
whose only armor was a faint whisper
and her lonely cry

I am cactus and wildflower
cool waters and dreams
of a woman whose visions speak
of learning
loving
and spirituality

I am heartiness in food
work and laughter
passionate fire
a fish out of water
deeply fulfilled
by the merging of emotions, trust and desire

I am the traveller of two cultures
and my journey though long
in the field of true living
has barely begun

I can blend life’s experiences
in a moment’s thought
I can feel my spirit soar
when I remember 

I am part of the divine

I have been comfort and pain
mystery and fear
a seeker of truth
always grateful for new direction

I am an old woman’s pilgrimage
I have always yearned to secure
guided in my lone journey by her image
and my heart

I am old
and I am young
reborn everyday
I can be showers of affection
or obsessed with perfection
a sunny day
a comfortable shoe
a roaring lion
or a bear’s cub

I am probably more
and somewhat less
whether, sister, dreamer
companera or lover,
I am
nonetheless
sincerely yours.

Seeds

Sitting there
in a small dish
are two little seeds
from a mulberry
or some other kind
of bush
they are now dried
as is the love with
the person I picked
them with on a road
trip to New Braunfels
a love that never
fully sprouted
a long distance love
that couldn't survive
on occasional phone calls
monthly visits
and workaholic
schedules
two little seeds
meant for a different
soil and much
more tender
waiting for the
blossoming
of Trust

The Tired Professor

I’m so tired

of playing some Big Mama

listening to the whines

of privileged

self-centered

lazy law students

with their

"I really want to know"

(But I hate you for

giving me a C+)

"I really do care"

(but I'm getting back at you

and giving you a fat zero

on this evaluation)

"I'm working hard"

(but I absolutely

need to go home

and plan my wedding)

"I just need one more

clarification about how

you're going to grade"

(and I'll blame you for

not getting a summer job)

"I really DO respect you"

(but I'm not going to raise

my hand in class no matter what)

"I'm just scared"

(but this

thought I'll never reveal

to them or even to myself)

"I can't help that I'm

a whining blood sucking brat"

(Yeah, that'll be the day I

hear them admitting that!)

Disturbed Love

I looked at you

and often saw myself

I cried ourselves to sleep

My heart yearned

for a moment

of calm

without the strange

mysterious fears

of your loving me

without the raging

tears that have sent

me looking for dark

rooms where I can

lust and drink

all alone

I crave

an ocean

of understanding

more than I think

any one person can give

more

than I'm able

to give

to my self

While I nurture

this faith

and learn to forgive

the errors that make

me human

I do need a friend

I need you

I love you