The mind unhinged is genius

in its purest form,

allowing paradox

and insignificance

to entwine in a waking dream

that only ends

when its vibrant eyes

are locked

and laid

to sleep. 

#327

They say he was a doctor

once, or a teacher, or a

painter; he saved a life or

inspired a child or left his

legacy on a sheet of paper or

a canvas or a scalpel.

They say he was old.

That they are sure of,

only by the wrinkles

on his cheeks and the

sporadic white hairs

that linger on        

his hollowed head.

The woman stared at me

because I was the only one

looking at her. Mid 50s, not

a drop of English left

her tongue.

He stabbed her neck with a needle,

and she didn’t squirm-

I wish I would have held her hand,

but I was shy.

He showed me the slides:

doesn’t look good, he said.

And he stabbed her again.

And again.

And she didn’t say a word. 

momma's gone

I saw her once at Easter

cooking burgers in the

barbeque and he wrapped

his arms around her waist,

watching their little girl.

I’ve seen the pictures:

her bloated, wearing a short,

brown wig and a smile

that would have destroyed

us all

had we been the cancer.

                                                

-          In memory of Irene Garcia