Jean Marie Ruiz Poems

My mother loved tulips.
In December her body waits
in a mortuary with
liver-rotted men and their cholo sons
...

I am on a pilgrimage
to the waterless pool
where Errol Flynn swam.
Under an avocado moon
...

I hear them crossing black rivers,
smothering their babies.
The women weave blankets
from stained glass.
...

I will die incoherent with altitude,
waiting for unpaid ransoms,
ignorant of the names of flowers.
...

It is easy to get lost in July.
Pines mask the horizon in lessening light.
Fog shortens distances
between the seen and unseen.
...

In my father's backyard a feral calico cat
lets me caress her.
I call her Dulce
and tell her she offers herself too easily.
...