|
by Naomi Ayala The earth died weeping while I lay dreaming of you. —Tom Waits I showed up for love: disorder everywhere. A constellation of undoneness spread over patches of spring. How do you mourn water, mountains? In the stockpile of hope, the ticking future-- a forgotten tree, a creek with peepers going mad in the labyrinths of green pit against all the world’s hungering.  photo by Erica Sánchez-Vázquez Naomi Ayala is the author of three books of poetry; most recently, Calling Home: Praise Songs and Incantations (Bilingual Press). She’s passionate about teaching writing to absolute beginners of all ages via innovative community projects, and is founding faculty of the Write Who You Are program. She lives in Washington, DC. |