Lunarosity Poems

Beggar Woman, Photo by Linda Sonna

The Warning

By Dr. Linda Sonna

As a young woman wandering through Mexico 

I marveled at the impoverished viejitas wilting on stony sidewalks,

watered their pleading faces

lined with parched furrows

with tears from my eyes,

nourished them

with pesos from my pockets.

 

I wondered at women, plump as oranges

in their child-bearing years,

fallen from the sheltering arms of family

tumbled onto shadowed curbs,

stretching withered palms toward strangers

from the barren nooks of nowhere.

 

But not from nowhere;

the viejitas are here, on the same streets,

still or again, these many decades later.

Looking into bruised eyes,

sharp and pleading or blurred and vague,

I glimpse my fearsome fate: 

 

Me, bereft, clutching a rebozo,

begging money for a bolillo, a bite of bread,

warning plump female passersby

still ripening in the sunny smiles of their men,

with my whispered pleas for pity, for a peso, 

while they pretend not to see that I have fallen,

Believing they could never, ever fall.

Delphinium Dancing

By Dr. Linda Sonna

Delphinium, Oil on canvas by Linda Sonna

a shake of moussed mane 
and the bright blue baubles 
dangling from her ears 
dip bob jingle. 
"aren't they cute? cute?" 
her orange lips grin the answer

as far off humans gouge the earth 
digging melting smelting 
molding metal

weighing mixing pressing 
stamping plastic 
to earn make ship sell buy 
burying blue of sky 
shimmer of sea 
twinkle of light 
for baubles that dangle briefly

that dangle like - 
there! in the meadow! 

     - Published May, 2004

Uncle Jesse's Giggles

By Dr. Linda Sonna

Each time you entered my toddler’s world, 
we giggled at the rattle of coins 
inside your piggy bank shaped like a moo-cow, 
giggled at cartoons. 
"That Bugs! Ain’t he somethin'?” you exclaimed. 
"Yes!" I agreed. "Somethin'!"

In first grade 
I felt a bit afraid of you. 
A man five times my size 
should draw me into his world, 
not follow me into mine,
shake a toy bank at my ear, 
giggle at cartoons. 
"That Bugs! Ain’t he somethin'?” you exclaimed, 
your hazel eyes brimming with delight, 
I tried to smile when I nodded.

In third grade 
I was tired of rattling coins, 
of watching you watch cartoons, 
“Yes, Uncle Jesse," I sighed. "Bugs Bunny is something else,” 
while wishing other, better friends 
would paint sparkles in your lonely eyes. 
draw out your giggles. 
so I could play, guilt-free, with my friends..

In fourth grade, 
I celebrated your birthday, 
By giggled at your bank rattles and cartoons. 
"That Bugs, ain’t he something!" I exclaimed! 
"That Bugs! Ain't he somethin'?" you echoed with delight. 
You loved my present: a wind-up, but... 
“Not for a full-grown man,” Gram said, 
snatching the toy from your clumsy hands 
and stealing your smile.

In fifth grade 
I determined to free your mind 
held hostage, I knew, by a dearth of words. 
As you rattled your moo-cow bank, I explained: 
“Cows eat grass, Uncle Jesse. Beef comes from cows. 
Can you say ‘beef’? Say 'beef'!” 
I held my breath, your hand, 
awaiting the miracle of thoughts unleashed. 
“Moo cow!” you exclaimed, 
giggles falling like tears 
from your broken mind.

As a teen 
I cringed as you held your silly bank to my ear 
annoyed by your eyes that sagged with longing 
for a companion, 
for a friend to join your endless childhood. 
I couldn't pretend that a cartoon bunny was something, 
or anything.

In my twenties, 
I floundered in great currents of confusion, 
Sometimes envying your simplified mind, 
wishing to delight in a bank's rattle, 
to giggle at cartoon rabbit. 
I wished that I thought that anything 
was something.

While struggling through my thirties, 
I defied Gram’s rule on your birthday, 
by placing a toy bank and stuffed toy
in your outstretched hands. 
I watched you cartoons 
Trying but failing to see them through your eyes. 
While exclaiming that good old Bugs was something 
And as you blessed me with your joyful smile, 
I found my own.

In my forties, 
When you died, I had yet to unravel 
the appeal of banks and Bugs Bunny 
I only knew that Uncle Jesse’s purity of joy

was something!

- Published May, 2005