A baby smells like Heaven,
and their coos bring delight
to the soul.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Ukraine
The nesting dolls
tell of your young girls,
growing
up in the war, to find
marriage, children
and often widowhood, after.
Tales of generations,
inside each other,
fit to perfection.
The perfection of Hugo,
Dostoevsky, and Tolstoy-
said to the names of Anna Kerenina
and Three Brothers Karamazov.
Why did I spend money on your oil,
when I had no food to eat,
O ye widows of Jerusalem,
Aliyah is come.
I want to buy you a ticket
so you will be free.
Leaving on a jet plane,
don't know when you should
go back again.
The bear is not so grand
when you are a Jew in the land.
tell of your young girls,
growing
up in the war, to find
marriage, children
and often widowhood, after.
Tales of generations,
inside each other,
fit to perfection.
The perfection of Hugo,
Dostoevsky, and Tolstoy-
said to the names of Anna Kerenina
and Three Brothers Karamazov.
Why did I spend money on your oil,
when I had no food to eat,
O ye widows of Jerusalem,
Aliyah is come.
I want to buy you a ticket
so you will be free.
Leaving on a jet plane,
don't know when you should
go back again.
The bear is not so grand
when you are a Jew in the land.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Perfect Grammar
Five spelling bees, two wins of my school.
Two lobotomies and a mind that is
still whole.
Two lobotomies and a mind that is
still whole.
Apple Pie
I came to San Francisco with thirty dollars and no sweater.
I was wearing a t-shirt and a skirt, flowing cranberry in color.
Feeling like that of my ancestors who came with only the
shirt on their backs,
I came with a book of Arabic.
Headed straight for a fancy restaurant
and ordered a cup of clam chowder,
couldn't really afford the bread.
I thought I saw the man I wanted to marry,
serendipity at best.
He was with another woman and it seemed
to be their engagement party.
I cried through my apple pie.
A la mode.
Thirty dollar meal, frozen inside and out,
walking in the cold with tears flowing down my face.
That was my McHappy meal on Fisherman's wharf
the day I followed my dreams.
Gisella Perezarce
Copyright 2009
I was wearing a t-shirt and a skirt, flowing cranberry in color.
Feeling like that of my ancestors who came with only the
shirt on their backs,
I came with a book of Arabic.
Headed straight for a fancy restaurant
and ordered a cup of clam chowder,
couldn't really afford the bread.
I thought I saw the man I wanted to marry,
serendipity at best.
He was with another woman and it seemed
to be their engagement party.
I cried through my apple pie.
A la mode.
Thirty dollar meal, frozen inside and out,
walking in the cold with tears flowing down my face.
That was my McHappy meal on Fisherman's wharf
the day I followed my dreams.
Gisella Perezarce
Copyright 2009
Suffering, how beautiful you are
I have suffered a lot lately,
a jailing unnecessarily, bruises,
broken bones, and cuts.
I also just listened to Jason Upton
sing, "Suffering, how beautiful you
are."
It is rare that Jesus holds us close
to His cross and lets us suffer with
him.
Rarely, he lets us wear his crown of thorns.
Likely, that gold and pearls is what we offer
and maybe diamonds is what we want in return.
Jesus holds me close for a photo-op,
it is a crown of thorns today,
about men I want to play with
and a man who suffered sweeter than
me for my life to be okay...
Jesus Christ.
a jailing unnecessarily, bruises,
broken bones, and cuts.
I also just listened to Jason Upton
sing, "Suffering, how beautiful you
are."
It is rare that Jesus holds us close
to His cross and lets us suffer with
him.
Rarely, he lets us wear his crown of thorns.
Likely, that gold and pearls is what we offer
and maybe diamonds is what we want in return.
Jesus holds me close for a photo-op,
it is a crown of thorns today,
about men I want to play with
and a man who suffered sweeter than
me for my life to be okay...
Jesus Christ.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Galileo
The 1980's had a song about you.
Maybe it was the 1990's, I'm
not sure.
The Copernicus question
haunted you, spurred you
on until you knew
the Sun was set.
It was the beginning and the
end/ we spun unto history
around it.
The earth, us, around him,
the sun. The Son, as Jesus
spun around the father
and DaVinci painted the Creation
on the Sistine.
Arcetri was your fate.
The town in Italy where
you were exiled and I was
born a scientist,
like you.
Maybe it was the 1990's, I'm
not sure.
The Copernicus question
haunted you, spurred you
on until you knew
the Sun was set.
It was the beginning and the
end/ we spun unto history
around it.
The earth, us, around him,
the sun. The Son, as Jesus
spun around the father
and DaVinci painted the Creation
on the Sistine.
Arcetri was your fate.
The town in Italy where
you were exiled and I was
born a scientist,
like you.
MontmartRe
Henri de Toulouse-LAutrec.
Born in the Pyrenees of France.
You were the firstborn,
and studied Degas and Manet.
Descendant of aristocracy,
the counts, and cousins were
your parents.
Producing a man small of stature,
prolific in nature,
and nouveau was never the same.
"Le vieux con!"
You were not an old fool,
in my eyes.
Born in the Pyrenees of France.
You were the firstborn,
and studied Degas and Manet.
Descendant of aristocracy,
the counts, and cousins were
your parents.
Producing a man small of stature,
prolific in nature,
and nouveau was never the same.
"Le vieux con!"
You were not an old fool,
in my eyes.
York
I just came from
Oklahoma City-
bombing that is.
The tanks filled
the street,
men with AK-47's
and Marshall law
enacted, I think.
Here is a town
called York,
in the middle of
Nebraska
and I'm pumping gas.
Oklahoma City-
bombing that is.
The tanks filled
the street,
men with AK-47's
and Marshall law
enacted, I think.
Here is a town
called York,
in the middle of
Nebraska
and I'm pumping gas.
50/50 Pop
I was told not to lick
off of her popsicle
'cause she was black.
I loved her more
than my mother.
She was my teacher.
"He's not heavy,
he's my brother."
That was the song
of my future.
A song of a lover...
Copyright 2009
Gisella Perezarce
off of her popsicle
'cause she was black.
I loved her more
than my mother.
She was my teacher.
"He's not heavy,
he's my brother."
That was the song
of my future.
A song of a lover...
Copyright 2009
Gisella Perezarce
1001 Arabian Knights
I was young when my mom
used to read to me about the Arabian Knights,
a Mexican fighting the Polaris
with no end in sight.
She read about Pinatas and lutes,
Raphael, Degas and taught me
how to play the flute.
I never learned about crossing
the border-
I crossed the schoolyard
to dance and sing-
"Girls in white dresses"...
"These are a few of my favorite things."
Copyright 2009
Gisella Perezarce
used to read to me about the Arabian Knights,
a Mexican fighting the Polaris
with no end in sight.
She read about Pinatas and lutes,
Raphael, Degas and taught me
how to play the flute.
I never learned about crossing
the border-
I crossed the schoolyard
to dance and sing-
"Girls in white dresses"...
"These are a few of my favorite things."
Copyright 2009
Gisella Perezarce
Weaver
I met an Ojibwe and a Chippewa couple.
She had long silver hair to her waist.
The kind with black streaks, like Joan Baez.
I used to pray to Jesus that I would
have hair like that when I grew older.
My mother's mother had all white.
She had long silver hair to her waist.
The kind with black streaks, like Joan Baez.
I used to pray to Jesus that I would
have hair like that when I grew older.
My mother's mother had all white.
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