Excerpt from Me Drawing a Picture of Me[n] by Rachelle Escamilla
The poems come out from a craigslist ad I posted searching for a fellow transcendentalist for my move to Pittsburgh from California in 2008. The ad was answered. Much good sex was had, as were these poems.
This is the time of day when men thirty-
three and thirty-two wear slick
business suits with horned lilac
blossoms in their pockets.
It is a sort of feeding frenzy for
walkers, wine drinkers.
Fellows! Let your hair grow long
your pubis bald with vulgarity!
Raise yourself to my liking.
Out of our sweet emails, you come.
Pittsburgh misses you today,
she told me.
It was noon in front of the red doors with black bolts,
the church on the corner of Ellsworth and Neville.
Not me. Pittsburgh misses you today. She told me w her
disembodied arms and bobbling breasts -
she whispered in my ear as I crossed the street
at Ellsworth and Clyde.
Dear Mister G,
This faulty form of communication is rendering -
Finding you between the lines and click of the -
a muse is all I ask for.
Here I am searching for fundamentals and finding lost words like
beauty, sublime, or lascivious innuendo. By my
memory, Mister, we never sat below a window
brown legs, white calves, black hair, pink fingers.
Today, three times I thought of your name - it’s circular topography.
We never wrote each others names.
You think of time and use logic.
I think of time that has not happened and tell you
Pittsburgh misses you and you say I have so little time these days.
Where are we tonight? Here in Pittsburgh there are buses
that run from downtown to Oakland at all hours of the night. Tonight!
Where are we, tonight? I find myself contemplating cormorants from the sound of it
the Pacific is too far away tonight. Here. Here is a picture for you to see:
of me
slapping parking meters
w a
flat-handed thwack!
here’s a picture
our fingers together
like your zipper
and then not
Oh me, in the Fall the hills are two times a day I
pass the apartment on Bayard and rub my body
against the Obama poster, Obama Biden, Bayard,
Banana muffins Pittsburgh mornings. Has
it been more than forty days? Do you remember your
body in her hands, her hard hands that are dull
brown callous and scrape your penis until we can’
take it no more? You’ve never had hands like hers!
They taste like onions and can grip tomatoes. They
peel like onions/burnt almond body. I am beneath
you, remember? I am soft now, watch me touch these
bodies, look! I am soft now, softest when I touch
parking meters.
Cystina
for Scott
They found a cyst today, I thought of you.
They found another cyst, the old ones are still -
they found a cyst today, I thought of you the way you looked -
I looked at you from a yellow cab, your cap bobbing on Baum blvd.
They found a cyst today and it was round and bobbing on
the monitor, it leaned on my ovary like your head on my shoulder.
I swing the creaking swing in Schenley and watch the UPMC
in the foreground with a gloved hand on my belly. Do you have family
here? No. Can someone pick you up from the hospital? I can walk. Do
you have friends? One. Can he pick you up? Not today.
They found a cyst today and I laughed as I walked into the Saturday morning
sun in winter cold air caught in throat and I am tickled. They found
a cyst today sitting on my ovary, resting on - drooping on. I thought of you
my my my my my Mister. I thought of you when they found a cyst and snapped
the bracelet on my wrist
three and thirty-two wear slick
business suits with horned lilac
blossoms in their pockets.
It is a sort of feeding frenzy for
walkers, wine drinkers.
Fellows! Let your hair grow long
your pubis bald with vulgarity!
Raise yourself to my liking.
Out of our sweet emails, you come.
Pittsburgh misses you today,
she told me.
It was noon in front of the red doors with black bolts,
the church on the corner of Ellsworth and Neville.
Not me. Pittsburgh misses you today. She told me w her
disembodied arms and bobbling breasts -
she whispered in my ear as I crossed the street
at Ellsworth and Clyde.
Dear Mister G,
This faulty form of communication is rendering -
Finding you between the lines and click of the -
a muse is all I ask for.
Here I am searching for fundamentals and finding lost words like
beauty, sublime, or lascivious innuendo. By my
memory, Mister, we never sat below a window
brown legs, white calves, black hair, pink fingers.
Today, three times I thought of your name - it’s circular topography.
We never wrote each others names.
You think of time and use logic.
I think of time that has not happened and tell you
Pittsburgh misses you and you say I have so little time these days.
Where are we tonight? Here in Pittsburgh there are buses
that run from downtown to Oakland at all hours of the night. Tonight!
Where are we, tonight? I find myself contemplating cormorants from the sound of it
the Pacific is too far away tonight. Here. Here is a picture for you to see:
of me
slapping parking meters
w a
flat-handed thwack!
here’s a picture
our fingers together
like your zipper
and then not
Oh me, in the Fall the hills are two times a day I
pass the apartment on Bayard and rub my body
against the Obama poster, Obama Biden, Bayard,
Banana muffins Pittsburgh mornings. Has
it been more than forty days? Do you remember your
body in her hands, her hard hands that are dull
brown callous and scrape your penis until we can’
take it no more? You’ve never had hands like hers!
They taste like onions and can grip tomatoes. They
peel like onions/burnt almond body. I am beneath
you, remember? I am soft now, watch me touch these
bodies, look! I am soft now, softest when I touch
parking meters.
Cystina
for Scott
They found a cyst today, I thought of you.
They found another cyst, the old ones are still -
they found a cyst today, I thought of you the way you looked -
I looked at you from a yellow cab, your cap bobbing on Baum blvd.
They found a cyst today and it was round and bobbing on
the monitor, it leaned on my ovary like your head on my shoulder.
I swing the creaking swing in Schenley and watch the UPMC
in the foreground with a gloved hand on my belly. Do you have family
here? No. Can someone pick you up from the hospital? I can walk. Do
you have friends? One. Can he pick you up? Not today.
They found a cyst today and I laughed as I walked into the Saturday morning
sun in winter cold air caught in throat and I am tickled. They found
a cyst today sitting on my ovary, resting on - drooping on. I thought of you
my my my my my Mister. I thought of you when they found a cyst and snapped
the bracelet on my wrist
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Rachelle Linda Escamilla lives inland from the Monterey Bay, California. Her first book, Imaginary Animal (Willow Books) won some prizes and has been nominated for others, but mostly the book is about race, labor and assimilation filtered through found text and re-appropriation of language generated from specific Google searches. She has an MFA from Pitt and a BA from San Jose State where she founded the Poets and Writers Coalition. From 2012-2014 she lived in Guangzhou where she co-founded Sun Yat-sen University's English-language Center for Creative Writing, curated lectures with the United States Consulate of Guangzhou and wrote for South China's answer to Vogue: In The Red. She has recently taken over as host of the 45 year long poetry radio show: Out of Our Minds on KKUP Cupertino. Contact Rachelle: www.poetita.com |