Two Poems by Jennifer Espinoza

CRESTING WAVE

Water moves through rock
in prayer,
earth cracking open slowly.

A mind scatters outward
in silence.
Kaleidoscope of selves.

Color dreams itself
in light,
full of noise and confusion.

Lines break
apart, defying
the border of flesh,

becoming one other
in apology
for what they were born as.

No one knows how to take
the sound of
their own longing.

*

ITINERARY

Move a desk.
Sell a car.
Bury a dog.
Get to work.
Clock your hands.
Clock your body.
Drape the self.
Stop smiling.
Give away.
Keep going.
Dream big.
Don’t sleep.
Drink three cups of coffee.
Smoke one cigarette.
Disdain yourself.
Disown your visions.
Look at the sun.
Don’t stare.
Tear down old art on the walls.
Throw your face in the trash.
Drink several glasses of water.
Ignore the heavy weight pulling on the floor of your heart.
Count your blessings.
Cut your losses.
Don’t cry, not yet.
Wait til you get home.
Then, cry forever.

*

Jennifer Espinoza is a poet whose work has been featured in Poetry Magazine, the American Poetry Review, The Rumpus, Poem-a-day @poets.org, and elsewhere. She is the author of I’m Alive / It Hurts / I Love It (Big Lucks), THERE SHOULD BE FLOWERS (The Accomplices) and I Don’t Want To Be Understood (Alice James Books). She holds an MFA in poetry from UC Riverside and currently resides in California with her wife, poet/essayist Eileen Elizabeth, and their cat and dog.