Some poems by Andrea Segovia
I featured Andrea Segovia in the following short stories: Samuel Pam’s Salvation; Andrea Segovia Loses Control; Craig Stemford’s Imprisonment. But when she read the stories back, she felt that they did not capture her experience entirely, so she decided to start writing a series of poems which would add further insight into her experiences that were featured in the stories. (She first published these poems on Lemonfingers.com.)
CONTENTS
A perfect vacation
A kiss is like a kitten’s smile
When the kitten dances on my vibrating floor
And the sun above is below me
And inside me I would smile if I could
I am from nowhere
Going nowhere
I am within the texture of your tongue
Its surface is so sky-like immense
I am a bird
With no body
With only an eye
My whole body is a raven’s eye
As it scans the crevices of your life
Past and present
I can feel your whole existence
Touching mine
In the minute movement of your being
Visiting me here inside my mouth
I want to close the door
To keep you here
With me
Disembodied
Together we roam a vast landscape
And then you are gone.
And I look into your eyes.
A passing breeze
The squirrel takes a leap
My breath is held by his flight
I am floating with him
My feet are tapping of their own accord
A thousand ants scurry in every direction
Two collide
The others all stop and look
The forest falls silent
This should not happen
They watch each other
Looking for an explanation
The whole tribe is grounded
Standing with half their feet lifted
Held mid step
No-one knows what to do
The two ants size each other up
Confusion watches over them
Like a passing cloud of stones
Floating
Suspended on disbelief
Until one ant winks
He doesn’t know why
Perhaps the breeze of that squirrel’s flight caught his lashes
And everything seemed ok
The army resumed its scurry
My foot relaxed
And the Squirrel landed
And I could hear the birdsong again
I could hear the distant traffic
Time had also resumed its scurry.
A surprising sight
The prostitute’s eyes
Watch me
With no surprise
With a parade of freaks
Her mind is a tour guide
She is Venice
She is Rome
She is Madame Tussauds
Her carpets are not vacuumed
No-one bares their feet
But flaunts their perversion
Her eyes are worn
As a brass rubbed by eager school boys
Till muscles burn
And cramp sets in
And still the parties tread
Her carpets unclean
Her eyes are front doors
Open wide
Hinges hanging loose from use
Until I step in
And offer help
And the door slams shut
And outraged words flee the house
Like rats from a ship
Long-since sunk
Vowels singing louder than outboard motors
Straining against my sight
Shocked at what they see.