STORIES AND POEMS

Sirene Rose

a sweet, sad song plays

sweet and sad

unlike the one echoing in my mind

more like an interpretation

or misinterpretation

of my hard thoughts

and your sweet feelings

but i understand

warmth covers me

engulfs or enraptures me

though you are gone

(but for awhile)

i swim in your absence

so deep, that up, that down,

are of the same

that here is there

that comfort is loneliness

that loneliness is without

that without is within

and within is not alone

because you are faith

and bound by faith

you will return

to my uncommitted faith

is this a mans mind?

this uncommitted, this fear?

for what i fear

is losing you

to not forever hear you

if not to see your face

to just feel vibrations

of your tongue 20 miles away

i pitied myself once, then again

for leaving purity with fear

to forever relent your indecision

to leave chi with yang.

i kissed the moon tonight

and you saw my smirk

the laugh at the end of your words

he moon left jupiter

and the planet did not see

in time’s wrath luna cried,

cried hurricanes of tears

to rain on the earth

though earth did not feel cold

cold grasped jupiter

and jupiter felt the moon.

LTS

crows feet I see

the gathering foundation, thinly applied

never quite enough to hide

the betrayal of loosening skin

the self at forty:

a distant mirror quietly aware

of the applying brush and silver hair

and years falling from cheek, jowl, and chin

yes, a little full here, there a little thin

my fingers prod back, stomach and sides

such evidence I keep well out of sight -

the pale buttery streak of cellulite

I am past caring

a mother of men, mistress of one

and on the scale of one to ten

they say I could be a nine.

at other times the scent of remembering

what it is to be desired and denied

the flowers, gifts, kisses....a wedding night

and always, then, the final parting

Yes, I know this image:

a reflection of all that has gone before

soft looks, murmurs, smiles of sorrow, and more

by the way of dreaming

then the knock on the door -

a quick scan of the finished art, the creamed effect

as the lines, shadows and colors set

and once more I wonder what the night will bring.

Allan Hurwit

An oasis can be

A place of calm - of safety

-

A place to

Renew ourselves - meditate

Study - learn

-

Our oasis can be what we make it

Whether inside or outside

It comes from who we are

-

Going to - finding - or creating

Our oasis may be

An act of bravery, happiness or desperation

-

Whatever our reason

It is a journey

We must all take

At one time or another

* * *

Womb of the Earth

Giver of life

Restless - ever moving - unpredictable

A liquid blanket

Covering much of the world

Containing great deeps

Harboring as yet unknown life

Fascinating possessor of many moods

Sometimes

Cold - dark - violent

Whipped by angry winds

Or heavy rains

Sometimes

Calm - tranquil-peaceful

Warmed by the hot yellow sun

Caressed by gentle breezes

Offering safe passage to the wary traveler

Venture forth, oh wanderers

Feel the motion

Taste and smell the salt air

Embrace the reality

Yet

Do not let the metaphor escape you.

by Patricia Villegas

The first time I confronted my brother about being a victim of domestic violence, I expected him to empathize and console me. Instead, his words of wisdom scolded me and left me wandering for the guidance I had needed. My brother was the only other male figure that I had in my life aside from my father. Since my father had died, only two years before, I felt abandoned. I had lost hope in reconstructing my life as a single mother. I chose to deal with the cruel treatment that my child’s father lashed out on me with the false hope that with time, things would get better.

At seventeen, I felt that "putting up" with this abuse was a punishment for having a child out of wedlock. My brother told me that living in such a fashion was the life I had chosen to live. My mother threatened to take away my child if I was not going to be a suitable parent. By this, she meant that I should stop feeling sorry for myself. That I should just "aguantarme" and think about my child. Wasn’t I? I thought about my child all the time. I thought about my child deserving a real family with no abuse involved. A family where I did not have to continually dread the days of violence. I wanted my child to have a mother who did not have to wear foundation on her face to cover up her bruises. I wanted my child to have a mother that was not being talked down to and insulted on a daily basis. No matter what I did, there was always something wrong that involved either physical or mental abuse.

I can remember going to high school my senior year, on a Monday, with a busted lip. A friend had asked what had happened. I had to tell her that over the weekend I ate crab and had contracted a fever blister due to an allergy. Bullshit. He had hit me with a closed fist and cut my upper lip open the Friday before. I could not even look her straight in the face. Another time, he had hit me in my left eye. I wore concealer under my eye and when asked, I said that I had not been sleeping lately and so I had to cover up the bags under my eyes. I hated being abused. I hated feeling guilty. I hated having to lie there as he forced me to have sex with him in his attempt to make up for the beatings. I felt so mechanical. There was a time when I actually hated sex. I despised it completely. Sometimes I wished that he would just abandon me, making it easier to return home and be safe, away from the abuse, away from the neglect, and away from the fear that lived inside me every day that someday I was not going to be so lucky and one fatal blow would put me at peace forever.

I often prayed to my father to end this punishment.

I did not want to continue living. What for? My brother had

disowned me. My mother no longer believed in me. I was an embarrassment to my family. My child would forget about me, eventually. She was too young to know the difference. I was not a monumental figure in her life yet. After a while I resolved that the only way to get out of this relationship and save my life and my child’s was to educate myself further and prove to my family that I deserved a second chance at life. I began Santa Monica College in the fall of 1997 and from there my life turned around. I tried again to leave him hoping my mother would back me in my decision. She was reluctant but she admired my continuous effort at succeeding in school and accepted me back home. My brother still did not speak to me. I missed him horribly. I wanted the affection that I had not felt for over three years. I constantly tried to look for my brother’s love but I was shut out. This year as I am in the process of transferring, my brother and I established a communication basis. I call him at home or page him and he will call me back. I do not know if it is because I am almost done with school. I do not know if it is because I am not with that "beater." I do not know if it is because he has found it in his heart to forgive me for all the detours I have taken in life.