Poetry: Selections from Niki Perez
When I Die
send me to the place
where waters are words,
paper is shore.
It Was a Box for Memoirs
they said,
as you sifted
through my brain
like I was easy,
held your stutter when
I threatened to walk.
By morning, a flower
shed its head like a virus
claiming victory over
teeth inside my heart. Tell me
why the daisies sing
when our memories bite
and then belong to
everyone.
Luz
I sometimes sit down. Write
bullets that pierce reason.
Sometimes, I write down. Sit
up and reason bulls.
Mine is a game of kinetics
like the night I lost my dog
and threw up her name
because she was just there.
Loss is not lost. Hope
near doubt is an absent funeral,
but it makes great flyers
or a newly built cemetery
all over town. Imagine
mourning paper trails,
paw print stained tile floors—
when you get phoned
by the only honest person
left about a pug
her husband found
walking south on the Turnpike.
Inspiring and talented! Gifted with words
ReplyDeleteAmazing reads. You are a wordsmith!
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