Sample Poems by Iris Gomez
Pirum Mysteriosa
A tree stands squatting
in the field. Pears
fall from its womb–
a dormitory of faces
slowly darkening.
Through the night,
wind dries the cord
that bound each pear,
seals the door over
each entrance to the past,
bare branches, crossed
like hands in sleep–
a genealogy
lost to the horizon
that spills the morning light.
Down, down
the streaked field comes
the broken family of pears, bringing
tears of sweetness
to cities, villages and towns.
Iris
Name in the sand,
a code of elegant stems
whose petals bend
and float away,
purples fading
into the collective
color of an ocean
that understands sky
in a single reflection.
Sheer waves breathe in
summer cottages,
shingles letting go
the human effort
to make permanence
in what was already here–
everywhere,
blurry horizon,
a world undivided
by the impulse to be unique.
Just This
I wanted to give you
the Arabic moon,
hard cheek
to the morning breeze
launching the chime
of ceramic bluebirds.
But you were invisible.
How could I give
anything but silence
emptying to the sea
until the sound returned
of breaking waves
was one heart breaking
still. You were the deeper
horizon. I swam in its mirror,
gold earrings dangling
in metaphor, each image
absorbing the other like
a love that has no name
or object, just
myself calling out
from myself. Just this.
Why We Let Go
Because the stars are far away,
too small, and we could never
hold them anyway,
and if we could,
the heat might kill us–
so we blow out our longing
for them, hoping
that like a birthday
they'll come again.
Because–
from our darkened planet,
the ground might release
an enchanted slipper.
A dancer, to tap out those
last sparks of summer fire.
Because desire too
crackles with meteors–
no one knowing if they'll hit
or trail fresh stars
for our children to count like sheep
as they learn to let go of counting.
We don't know why we let go
of what we count on, why
the numbers, lucky or not,
pirouette from reach,
while our sleeping hands, like compasses,
point out at the beyond.