July 1, 2015

Three Poems By Cindy Rinne: "Womb-Door I,II,III," "Memory Pockets," "Curls Dyed Gray"

Cindy Rinne creates art and writes in San Bernardino, CA. She co-authored with Michael Cooper Speaking Through Sediment (ELJ Publications). Cindy’s book, Quiet Lantern, is forthcoming (Turning Point) and spider with wings is forthcoming (Jamii Publishing). Her poem, “Mapping” was nominated for the Liakoura Award by Pirene’s Fountain. Cindy is a founding member of PoetrIE, an Inland Empire based literary community. Her poetry appeared or is forthcoming in Young Ravens Literary Review, Rose Red Review, Eternal Haunted Summer, Cactus Heart Press, The Wayfarer, Dual Coast Magazine, Artemis Journal, Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, and others. www.fiberverse.com



Womb-Door


I
The idea of being known
Successful
People have expectations
Perceptions
Like a seedling pushing
Through dry earth
Cracks
Feels wind for the first time
Rain pulls the fragile
Leaf
Down. Going backward into the
Ground.
Ice cold, damp, split
Footprint breathes close
Reach to the sun
Afraid to return to who I was
No voice among the murmurs
Invisible
People have expectations
Perceptions


Purple Crocus/Bee IVJ July 2015
Purple Crocus/Bee
II
Quiet
Still
Breathe deep.
Pause
Moment
Breathe in sky –
Breathe out clouds.
Walk
Listen
Chant
After a time of frost,
The first bud reaches
Skyward


III
The leaf hovers over the ground
Bees approach the flower
Click
Plant introduced
Unique
Beautiful
Left womb of ground
Reaching arc of sky
Community
Solitude
Clarity





Memory Pockets


You explained the difference between Tibetan and Zen Buddhism and could pronounce the name of the author of my daily devotional on mindfulness. You spoke the name of the coffeehouse we worked at as teens, “Nexus” – a word buried in pockets of memory. You turned out to be a good cook. I served tables as glass coffee cups chinked. Helped overdosed. You are still in touch with a friend I barely knew. He has a family. His name brings back days at Westport – India prints, incense, and black light posters. You spent the past two year’s caretaking your mom who still knows your name, but needs others’ full-time care. I wonder if she remembers me, the little girl from up the street with dark eyes and black hair? I was careful at your house because your dad was a cop.






Curls Dyed Gray


Sofa cushions wheezed under
Two, young sentinels. Their eyes
Stared through my forehead, hands
Perched on their thighs. Dust


Spat as they leaned, grabbed, stacked
Clacking, restacked a tower of
Books –


Small tight ball of fur darted, zigzagged,
Barking as the women, one blond
Of soft waves, the other, side buzzed,
Curls dyed gray cracked


Open torn edges, pointed mid-page, aspects
The other poked, deep     woof
Grabbed a slice of pages,
stabbed     woof     mystical
Spiritual of attitude     woof


Inner
Noice


Flipped pages     woof     The anima, who
Can initiate a man     woof     into the mystery
Of his own     woof     feminine being
Is projected


Woof     Pages clapped open     woof


Lover
The wolf    

~Cindy Rinne


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