Laura Jaramillo (South Philadelphia, Pennsylvania): from Double Trinity
There was a procession in the florid triangle
of my garden. Dawn brought the revolt of equestrian
statues. I lay down beside my uprooted perennials
and showered empty beds with salt, ink, mascara,
while one bronze statesman extended his arms, airplane-
like. His steed ran without reigns, a bride with no veil.
The residents of the city did little to veil
their contempt for the disturbance of the everyday triangle,
but vagrants kissed the empty airplane-
less sky. Traffic ceased its equestrian
stride. Billboards’ eyes, propped open with mascara,
stamped out a flustered morse code, suspecting the chaos perennial.
I cultivated and talked to deaf mutes, but suspected the perennials
wore their blooms as sabotage veil,
perhaps were passing off even war paint as mascara.
I distrusted geometry (petal, a euphemism for triangle),
but liked topography (I’d slash at the ground like an equestrian).
Holes are cut into the earth by horses, runways by airplanes.
© Laura Jaramillo 2005
of my garden. Dawn brought the revolt of equestrian
statues. I lay down beside my uprooted perennials
and showered empty beds with salt, ink, mascara,
while one bronze statesman extended his arms, airplane-
like. His steed ran without reigns, a bride with no veil.
The residents of the city did little to veil
their contempt for the disturbance of the everyday triangle,
but vagrants kissed the empty airplane-
less sky. Traffic ceased its equestrian
stride. Billboards’ eyes, propped open with mascara,
stamped out a flustered morse code, suspecting the chaos perennial.
I cultivated and talked to deaf mutes, but suspected the perennials
wore their blooms as sabotage veil,
perhaps were passing off even war paint as mascara.
I distrusted geometry (petal, a euphemism for triangle),
but liked topography (I’d slash at the ground like an equestrian).
Holes are cut into the earth by horses, runways by airplanes.
© Laura Jaramillo 2005
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