“I look up at stars and clouds from rooftops, and dream the big dream on our bed” - Ingrid Calderon-Collins
Later, in bed, I think of Harry and the bird on the bluffs. The big creature rises out of its paint job and flies next to the river, casting its red eyes and deer horns over the earth. It follows me and Mitch and Harry and Jess like an officer, its uniform a skin of thick brown scales. A bird like that could swallow our car. It could swoop down and lift us with its talons and take us deep into its world.
After migrating to the United States, abandoning the Civil War plaguing my country at the time, I ended up in the San Gabriel Valley in the 80’s and 90’s, eventually making Los Angeles my home. I clawed my way through the English language, learning some broken French along the way. Most of my writing focuses on interweaving these subjects whenever possible. There are deaths and resurrections in my poetry. There is a lewdness woven with purity. There are wars and harmony. I hope to bring dichotomy to surface, and give a pulse and a dull ache to the human condition. My goal is to be an anonymous voice that cuddles the masses. I want to be relatable. To embrace the wicked and embellish in the sweet.
Poetesses write & dream:
puncture, skin, ruby,
Moringa plant, wood,
gone.
“ … a regular in Roger Corman’s movies for many years, Miller has appeared in dozens of other films and TV shows. Through the many decades he has worked, Miller is one of the most famous of those people you recognize but can’t quite place …”
Alone is nestled in the nook of a long branch of a tree. The branch spreads out over the water. The ducks swim by and the tiny frogs hop on the muddy shore beneath. Tiny white bugs skitter over the surface like stars in the sky until the fish leap towards the surface to gobble at them.
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