“Lines” by Yania Padilla Sierra
I cannot see
See beyond the fluffy lines of euphoric dismay
See past the smoky whiskey
Warm in its dismissal
I lick my fingers savoring the bitterness.
My work is done.
My veins, tired from pumping diesel,
From accepting poison, tremble
Blue with age.
My heart an old horse drawn cart
Huffing slowly over
A pock marked road.
Another line, another vision- Mother in a black dress,
The dirt of consecrated land whirling
About her. An open earth wound, oh flesh of my flesh.
The only eye is the mind’s eye.
I will gouge it out with these lines.
Crimson droplets form on the table as I inhale the now
Pink douser of flame. Waste not, want not.
I drink from bottled Styx-forget me, sot.
The promise of yesterday now
A wizened crone of yore, maiden nevermore.
Shut, eye, damn you! Shut!
No more of anthems and pledges of secrets and death.
Should help me
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Yania Padilla Sierra’s Artist Statement: Yania is a Puerto Rican poet, artist, and profligate from Connecticut. She enjoys her bourbon neat and her men bawdy. As a civilian she advocates for suicide prevention and mental health initiatives. She lives in a ramshackle house with her kid, some cats, and a dog.