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Two Poems from Maria
By Maria R. Palacios
Naturaleza Muerta
(Still Life)
A poem for Frita Kahlo
I won't die young
like you.
I'm already old
in polio years.
I count years like a dog
an extra set of seven
for each one that goes by
plus all the broken mirrors
and broken poems
that supposedly bring
seven years of bad luck.
Seven times six
is forty-two.
I'm always around the corner
from you.
How many full moons
have there been in my life?
By the time I'm done counting,
I'll no longer be young.
I won't die young
like you.
So my poems invent
another version of you
one that hurts less
and laughs more
one that lives long enough
to be old.
I don't have your Casa Azul.
My casa azul is green.
My colors are often
far away from blue.
Blue makes me cold.
Blue makes me blue.
My colors
are warm yellows and reds,
black,
green and bright orange.
Like yours,
they are loud and mouthy.
They drink tequila and they smoke
but only
in my poems.
I only drink tequila
on my birthday
and I haven't had a cigarette
since some November.
I feel
the immortality of you
crawling under my senses,
the ashes
of our most naked thoughts,
secrets
beneath a body cast,
the polio years
and the cold legs.
The same monsters that haunted you
now live
under my bed.
By now they're tame.
I feed them scraps of poetry,
words that never make it
into the final draft,
the fatty ends of my creativity,
poems I'll probably never write.
I feed them that.
I take each one of your colors
and bite
into your painted fruit
into the heart of your pain
and your dreams
the ones you couldn't name,
the ones
you couldn't kiss
goodbye.
Your art breathes in my poems.
The paper lungs of your still life
inflate with words.
You breathe again.
You live again.
You inhale me
and absorb me
and make love to my page.
Death
does not frighten me.
We have always been
good friends.
Peanut Butter Tacos
I eat peanut butter
with a spoon
no jelly or bread
just the thick, creamy texture
of crushed peanuts
that stick to my gums
along with words
not ripe enough to venture
into the spoken form.
Peanut butter and poems
melt in my mouth
caressing my taste buds
with semi-salty gooeyness.
that makes my tongue dance
next to rising phrases
that surface in my mouth.
One day
of neurotic PMS
I might crave
the sugar and starch
to go with it.
I shall then
sit on the floor with my sorrows
a stack of tortillas on one side
giant jar of jelly on the other
and squeeze poems
into tacos
merging my two worlds
at once.
Maria R. Palacios Empowered Latina, inspirational speaker, feminist poet, author, spoken word performer, polio survivor, activist, disability educator, workshop facilitator, professional presenter.
Her personal experience with disability issues makes her presentations a dynamic and an educational journey that will shatter any negative myths regarding this community.
Born in Latin America, Maria contracted Polio at the age of eight months. She came to the United States at age fifteen and overcame the obstacles of language and culture to become the strong and independent woman she is now.
Her professional background ranges from independent living counseling to domestic violence, sexual assault and crisis intervention as well as media presentations, public speaking and community outreach.
Maria’s poetry has been felt and heard throughout the Houston area. Her voice and her message came together in the published form in 2003 through a self-published collection of feminist poetry, The Female King, which has made Maria one of Houston’s favorites in the poetry scene. She uses her poetry and her work to raise consciousness about women’s issues at a global level focusing on social controversies such as reproductive rights, domestic violence, sexuality and disability and cultural diversity.
To Read More of Her Work, visit http://www.myspace.com/goddessonwheels