Photo by Randi Boice

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

For Matt

He lifts the car to stop the hurt,
and runs the road into dirt,
chunks of gravel stuck underfoot,
he runs to a home in the woods
made of tangled roots, shooting roots
to every corner of the world, twisting
and shooting and shouting out loud,
so loud, shouting out a plane into
sky sky sky never-ending sky,
upside down sky holding dots
that comprise the world dots of
trees and cars and that one car
the one he will land on.

Photo by Anna Levinzon

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

For Alicia

She moves like water

Tropical water

Through walls

She goes beyond what she is told to believe
She moves like a hurricane packed into stilettos and a pencil skirt with an agenda that can be crumpled up and thrown away at the last minute, for effect, but only by her

Everyone in this meeting is breathless waiting for what she does next with no agenda,
she is water and air mixed together so perfectly like business professional,
like lipstick dark enough to whiten teeth,
like laughter deep enough to send whales up for fresh air.
Perfectly imperfect together like love and like.

She was made for this moment, in this moment she was made, and is made again.

She owns it, she declares it

She says it and it is true.

Photo by _frankenstein_

Photo by Drew Herron

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

inspired by Tim

The desert stretches and yawns
and raises his shoulders to his ears,
higher, as close to the sky as he can reach.
Sleep falls from his eyes,
a tiny brook, a gentle breeze,
wipes away any thought of tears.

Daylight

burns away the dream of going back in time
to the back seat of her car or
the front seat ride to the hospital
or the grave site no one visits anymore

High Noon

hides uncertainty like a snake
under a rock you only see when it is
too late to pretend to be braver
than you are. He kills the snake in the heart
of the desert where the only mirages
are waves of fire because he would
rather be hot than disappointed
by misinformation

Dusk

a mountain lion guards his family from
the white eye in the sky that never blinks.
An eagle flies overhead but she sees
nowhere to land, and so it goes,
The desert stretches and yawns.

Photo by Jason Priem

Photo by Mary Helen Leonard

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

inspired by James

He sits with her and her suitcase
and that wild look she wears on her face
telling her not to run no not this time
telling her with his eyes and backboned lines

she sees his hair standing straight to the sky
she notices her shoes she notices the time
she sees every normally-thing with eyes of her mind
out of place out of darkness out of sorts in this life

except for James. He was going to play soccer
but now he is with her convincing her
to stay here to live here, to be still
in this place in her mind.

Photo by Drew Herron

Photo by Drew Herron

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

for Malissa

Angels told me
you were special
in a dream.
Angels told me you were special
in a dream of light
and clouds
and love above my head.
Angels told me you were special in a dream of light and clouds and love above my head.

Then I plunged
into a place of sweat
and weepy salty water running everywhere for mothers and children and small graves shaking hands saying I am so sorry saying goodbye saying pop pop pop quiet crying quiet screaming and raw open heart emotional surgery like all the times the one you love walks away from you even though he loves you but he cannot hold that love in his heart and look at you at the same time at the same moment in the same room they must separate into different compartments different rooms basement rooms I have been in those rooms I am in them now he knows everything about me and he is walking away from me.

But it is okay, life is here and not fair
I can dream anytime anywhere
anytime
anywhere
Love above my head and light is there.

Photo by Marcy Kellar

Photo by Bob Vonderau

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

inspired by Billy

There is an ocean between us
but I can hold you like fish in my hands
like two fish swimming in opposite oceans
but I have a hand on each
and they do not mind, they get oxygen
from my skin do not ask me how
I am a hundred years old yet I know not
the answers to life, that is why I ask you,
I ask you to swim around the world
and tell me what you see and hear and taste
tell me what they say to you over there
on the other side of the world when they
discover you swam to them from hands
that are a hundred years old.
These are not my hands anymore,
they are yours to do with what you wish
but I need you to promise to give them
away when you are older
because that is how I held you
in the first place, in the beginning

Photo by Nagesh Jayaraman

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

inspired by CMK

His wall of water clears a path
jumping to life every living thing,
a packed-together life teaming
inside the wall, swirling into one
on one on one on one only one

There is only One

ocean full of life
life full of ocean
coming and going coming,
a lapping flame, a pounding force
shaping rocks into pearls into sand
into toe indentations on the beach
where I used to stand when I was little
but the world looks different now,
people are smaller but their edges larger.

I crouch in his feet among them.

Photo by Mait Jüriado

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

inspired by Leah

Within my open fist is a heart, mine,
that orbits around and around me
spinning like a ballerina, spinning seconds away.
My focused intentions are pure, in repose,
the fog crawls over my eyelashes
sun lights my lips with red brick heat.
I am earth and sunrise playing with the moon.
I wind up my arm for a curveball
and clutch my heart close
one foot planted on dirt
one foot raised, hovering gracefully.
The stars wait to see what I do next.

Photo by H. Raab

Photo by Barbara K.

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

inspired by Emily

save me save me Save Me
from the creative impulse below my belt;
The art work inside my belly kicks
hard and turns upside down.
My paint brush tenses and weeps tears
leaking on my cheeks with joy
or sorrow sometimes I cannot tell
the difference, every part of me grows larger,
I am expanding.
We are. There is. A man.
Responsible for all this
turbulent change.

He is lover husband father friend.
Creator.

I am love.
I hold love. His love. Ours.
He needs me to show up. To Show.
I show every emotion, every tear,
soon this art will tear from me wailing naked
wet bleeding hungry wanting,
not wanting, wanting, not wanting,
I wait on pause for more wanting,
panting, I climax, I crest, I feed,
I hold life in my hands.
I pulse and give pulse and more love,
I give more.

Photo by Aaron Gilson

Photo by Matthew Venn

A poem by Chloe Sparacino

This poem was inspired by (and at) the Parado Salsa tasting booth at Point Loma, California’s farmers market on September 30, 2012. Try their Flagship salsa to experience the taste of this poem.

I bit into the desert.
Dark curtains of night closed over the sun.
Fire erupted around me.

I bit into the desert while riding a Palomino horse.
My feet bare under the spotlight of moon.
I looked up and saw as if for the first time
Stars, as many as the sand multiplying under my toes.

I looked down and saw waves of moonlight
as if shallow water covered the desert floor,
for an unquenchable thirst, an insatiable fire.

My tongue is attached to a song that stays in my mouth
reverberating down, a song echoing in the taverns
of my heart, echoing the never-ending silence of night.

My horse knows the song, she feels it on her back
beneath my thighs, she knows it in her body, a song
as strong as the desert night.

I ride toward the sleeping dawn with wind in my hair,
night underfoot, my fingertips tingling
echoes still lingering, we fly over a sea of sand
carrying a heart full of fire to light up the sky.

Photo by Kelly Shakespeare