Venus in pink

…………skies, flutter of
a silk dress on the line, the last
drops pooling on the tile for a second
before disappearing, scorched.

You wonder how it can be so hot
this early, the washing hung before the sun
can bleach it. Later, you watch the girls
on the beach saunter by

(That’s a bikini? you think, trying
not be envious of their smooth
curves, the strut, the tan
that you once upon a time

never needed. You were blond, unplucked,
a ripening strawberry hidden among the
green, a rose blooming on the stem.
The bold canter of your heart, wild dances in

moonlight.) Today, in silence, hands raw from
wringing, you follow the flight of the heron
sailing up the river at sunrise. You still
wear pink, but silk and with a slip.

Lovers

I want to touch you like tender rain
I want to run my fingers through your hair
like a breeze, like a whisper
and melt you with heated kisses
I want to pick the cherries from your boughs
and lay them in my fine woven basket
I want to bury myself in your golden nectar
the way bees enter flowers, come out sticky and drunk with pollen
I want to entwine around you like a morning glory
brilliantly awake to the world
I want to dance together as butterflies do
intricately measuring the air
I want to be covered by you the way
dandelions take over the lawn

Moontime

The moon sang to her bones
and she rose up, beating the dance into the lush
grass, arms held out as in embrace,
in prayer.

Her body undulated like a river and she entered the
pulse of her own rhythm. She was meant to
dance wildly in solitude while others
shielded their hearts from her
blaze.

The woman would shed her skin the way she
shed her blood, whisper words of comfort
to those left behind.

Asks for no surety, makes no bonds,
marks the day with praise, fondles the red circle
around her waist. The woman dances

skin to skin with the moon, with the dirt
under her feet, with the song that breathes
up from her gladness.

Dancing One More Time

You are not good for me
and yet I yearn for you.
How dare you walk away,
what right do you have to pocket my love
like a penny begged on a corner
without a backward glance?

What right do you have
to dance with strangers
while I await you like a school girl
drunk on a holiday
afraid she is about to lose her virtue
afraid the chance might pass her by?

What right do you have to be cold
and cruel?
The dance steps we perfected
of coming together and breaking away
have torn up the dance floor
so that I stumble,
my feet aching in
broken shoes.

Geyser

There is no delight
without love
There is no love
without tears
But I am a well
a fountain
a geyser
rushing up from an overflowing heart:
hot and steamy
but jettisoning
to no one
into empty space
where the audience applauds
when I am on time.

Duet

You were my warrior and I your lonely wife
at the window. You were my farmer and I
the basket, the crushed grapes, the ripe fermentation.

You were my tailor and I the seam, you my
cobbler and I the sole, you were my waiter
and I the lady at table, lean and flushed

with the touch of the sun, desiring cool
drinks or ices to quench my thirst. You were
the engineer and I the gleaming parts, the roar

of the engine, the twist and fit of the cogs.
You were the angel and I the prayer, you
were the jester and I the riddle and song.

Falling in love

I dropped my coins in the wishing well
and dusted my pillow with charms and roses
and still, it is a surprise, a wave of giddy
nerves, trembling knees, that urges me to dance.
Blood rises in the circuitous cells
that comprise my bones, my muscles, my will.
It flings me up and up,
a giant wave cresting to reach the moon.
It is like tearing open a package dressed in brown paper
to a gold bracelet shimmering with jewels, the
one I had admired in the jeweler’s window
the one I thought I could not afford.

Mi Sol

Today I am pondering the intricacies of desire
how I wanted you to look at me, the gaze
between us as warm as floating in a Mediterranean sea

You were the sun beating down on my shore
and I the moon, vigilantly shining through the dark,
a path to the sea, a motion of nearing

that guided us to the horizon. But then came
sunset, a door closing, our final kisses
as blank as whitewashed walls
as tender as rain

beyond words

Beyond Words

She wanted nothing he could not bring
by coming alone. Alone. She was.
Finally. The dishes put away in their
stacked piles. The soft air of the humming
fan. And within, the
sky that rippled out when
she touched her heart
and remembered.

The ghost breathed a coolness into the
green of her desire. But still.
She was. A greed for caresses
while her eyes took him to island places.
Oasis. Fresh rose water poured over the
palms. Disguised as a virgin. The
fig of the mouth.

Only knowing in the final moment
of unveiling she would rise
under the challenge of his hands.
Finally. He brought her refuge and his
cloak of secrets when he came to
her alone.

All my life I have loved more than one thing

“All my life I have loved more than one thing……”
Mary Oliver

I have loved the quiet breath of anticipation
just before the sunrise tips the horizon in gold
and I have loved the tapestry of brilliant
colors enfolding day into night

and I have loved the silence of a forest path
with its gossamer of web and wing
and boisterous laughter
around a dinner table

I have loved the holy shine on a new-born’s
face when he comes to light
and the tender curls on the back of a neck
of a stranger seated in front of me

I have loved loud rock’n’roll and the brash throb
of its heart-beat urging me to dance
and the soft melodies of Andrea Bocelli
singing in a language I can not translate

I love a friend’s listening ear without
offering me judgment or advice
and I love the harsh voice of truth
telling me I need to think again

and I love stories and the feel of a book
in my hands and I love casting
twigs into the fire, empty and serene,
while the stars mark the miles to eternity

I have loved the fragrance of gardenias
and the sound of waves hitting the beach
and the taste of crusty bread dipped into
freshly pressed olive oil and salt

I have loved the touch of a masseuse’s
wisdom and the crushing weight of a love
I yearn for even though I know
it will break my heart

I have loved places where I laid down
into deep sleep, beaches or meadows,
and I have loved being awakened from
a dream by the sound of my own name

Alive, I tell you

and in the dream
surely as close as my breath
as close as my own shade

spread around us upon the cobbles.
It was not passion
and yet there were kisses

and joy, there was the time after margaritas
we staggered across the swaying
planked bridge, holding onto

each other as if that would prevent us
from falling. Those magical
nights of having you all to myself.

I accepted the gloom and the
moods and the way frustration
flared up like a firecracker

gone off at the wrong party
for the sake of the music,
your voice in sync with some

sappy love song, the way it made
my heart quiver and shake, the way it
made my world spin into orbit

around your invincible sun.

Blazing through night

You are my fiesta, my fireworks against the
pitch black, my bone rattling boom, my
roar of the crowd, my glittering
cannon flyer, my sequined stunt man

You are my foot stomping, hand clapping
flamenco dance, my tango, my pasa doble
with a heart clutching spin, my waltz until we
fall down, wings burst into star dust and blood

You are my long drink of water
in a desert of games, those odd ones of
false appearances and deceit, snark
whistles and snake tongues

You are my hallowed ground, my shivering
awe that traces along my spine, my communion
from a well of sweet gospel, blind
transformation, awakened zeal

You are my fire keeper, my hearth, my flame,
my driftwood of sculptured loss, my turnstile of
fate, you are the face in my
tortilla, the honey on my papaya

You are the pebbles cast in moonlight,
the backward look, the courage, the sacrifice
You are the rules that broke every one
until we were no longer sorry,
until we were found

Aftermath

This is a piece of my heart left over
after the harvest, after the fire, after the feast.
This is the muscle that stretches its arms,
this is the ache that learned how to sing.

This is where I will hold you close,
soothing song of sympathy, drum roll
of hope, tune of gratitude,
and willingness to give everything
you could ask for, if only you would.

This I will feed you, milk and honey,
berries and cream and those warm figs
that fell off the tree, crusty
bread, olives and cheese,
these I will set on our table of
communion, a gaze between us
of forest, of gardens, of fields.

This I will hold, this I will release,
gladness that arched between us
like sun come back from the storm, like
the way the first man greeted his
flesh-formed maiden, like the world
had been created just for we two.

Michael's gift: today's poem

You are my hearth
my soul-keeper
my flame
I was born to be ignited by you
I plunge sprouting wings
fanned into fire
by the breath of your love

You are my slow river
my ark
traveling through dark liquid night
silently
downward I sail
past star-glistened rocks
drenched in salt spray
and then opening
to the luminescent
shattered
moon trail of the sea
gently rocking
gently rocking

You light me within
and I am the lantern
the lighthouse’s cherished beam

Kissing you
I dream of sunrise
surprising my sleep-frosted eyes
like a squeeze of tropical fruit
across a blue tablecloth
quenching my heat-blistered tongue
and filling my parched throat
with sweet wildness

Love

I am still waiting for a sign,
a shiver across my shoulders, a word
written in snow by sparrow feet

hoping by that simple gesture
that means so much, the fertile
dark will be sundered.

Our longing we never shared,
too risky the journey,
the plow finding stones

and the heart crying foul once again.
But still I would hear it now
that you have reached light,

those flames burnt across my soul,
the grace of knowing we were once
twined, even if only in froth and sand.

p prompt

privacy

this is secret, whisper, shadow
this is pure, untainted by human need
the all too human desire to touch and own,
this is protection when all the world has torn

you through with its jagged teeth of greed
this is solitude when prophecy is strong
when prediction means watch, wait, enfold

when promise creeps in closer to the soul
when the purpose of vows are to forgive
what cannot be undone

the way of the hermit, the steps of the
pilgrim, the muse of the sage
gone to bone, perfumed by the light
from the last eternal star

worn for the duration
pressed into memory
owned by no one
devoured with grace

Our Green Card Anniversary: to find the book

Our Green Card Anniversary

You come home dressed in black.
I can’t decide between silk or
velvet. I remember I wore a lace
blouse. It was a warm October day.
In the photographs I am standing
in shadow, you in the light.

You ask, “Where do you want to go?”
I don’t have any appetite, only a desire
to wear stockings and heels and
retrieve the gaze, the way you looked
at me the first time.

I remember how I clutched the flowers,
couldn’t call it a bouquet without wanting
to toss it away. In my room there
are tulips and a note. “I want to make
up,” you write. The storm was still

ringing in my ears. I remember how we
laughed trying on Halloween costumes
at the party store. One costume was
husband, another wife. I ended up wearing
strands of red coral and a gold

mask. It was our first public
appearance as a married couple.
I hadn’t changed my name yet.
The tulips are blooded and I don’t know
if I want to rebel or give in because now

I see though your subterfuge. You stood in
the light where the love reflected
off your face for all the memories
to come. I stood in shadow
promising that the tears I accumulate

would belong to us both. We took it on
despite the clock of abandonment
ticking its warning note.
“I want to make up,” you wrote.

“The way I love you is beyond words,”
I write back. At the table you open the card
and I can’t read the expression on your face.

For Dia de los Muertos your ancestors danced
on the altar with mine. Does that make us family?
Your mother’s spirit came by and blessed me in the
shadowy aftermath of the party when we
drank too much tequila. She said you would

never let me go. You hold on by offering
tulips, dinner out, the red wine I like best.
You never said you believed the
vows we took. You took my tears
and braided them into the rug at the entrance

of our home, where I live with
your name that is now mine and my
disappointments. Dia de los Muertos is
coming and I am afraid the grief will sweep me
away. Once again you

reach out to catch me. I remember
we drank champagne and I went home alone
and happy. Tonight we drink champagne
and you take me into your life
as neatly as folding shut an envelope.

When I told you I need you, you
did not try to negate me. I said
I think it is natural. You said, “Are you
ready for tiramisu?”


from Ceremonies of the Spirit
(c) Wendy Brown-Baez
2009

Join us for an evening of extraordinary performance art!

An evening of multi-cultural, dynamic, cutting edge performaces

by 6 talented women:

Dance and story-telling Xpression-Inspiration by Maia Maiden

Performance poet Wendy Brown-Baez in La Noche del Amor

Dance Textured memories by Renee Copeland

Spoken Word by Deja Stowers in Black Girl, one world

Stand up comic Farheen Hakeem

Dance by Aneka Mcmullen

Patrick's Cabaret

3010 Minnehaha Ave S Mpls

Friday April 3, Saturday April 4

http://www.patrickscabaret.org/

publication performance party

Ceremonies of the Spirit
love poems sensual and celestial
from Plain View Press

Publication Performance Party
Friday February 27th at 7:00

followed by wine reception & book signing
at Homewood Studios

2400 Plymouth Ave, Minneapolis, 55411

http://www.homewoodstudios.com/galleries.html

or

to order signed copies http://www.wendybrownbaez.com/
to order by credit card: Plain View Press
sbpvp@sbcglobal.net

$15 plus $3 S&H

"… That’s what Wendy does, she connects us with words and wraps us in the safety of a shawl so we can fall in love with poetry once again."
- Gary Glazner, Founder of the Alzheimer’s Poetry Project