I see those mottled photos, ornate albums
of yesterdays yellow sun
Of swollen women, dream-like, in a lavender field.
They leash their arms around an oval-shape
becoming empty; the shape deflates, the air comes out like water.
It starts to breathe it’s own small breath in the shape of a person,
someday a man, a woman, sometimes swollen, sometimes
stiff, stark, or bleeding.
Seeing those photos one day,
your nose has memorized leather and tobacco flower.
for her, it’s dr.pepper, Disney on ice
the coty musk she never knew she had just inside the pi of bone.
samantha lucero 2017 ©
A recent story one of my BFF’s and I wrote together. A publisher for an anthology passed on it (and my other ghost story, too. I finally found the email. which means I’ll be posting that one up eventually, too.) it’s written in two perspectives, Adelina and Vera, two single moms (and characters we used to role-play on journals in a World of Darkness setting, I TOLD YOU I WAS A NERD.) both first person. It’s about 15k words, so it’s kind of a commitment. It was partly inspired by a weird place in the hills of NJ.
And yes, it’s horror. Do you even know me?
Two single moms leave their lives behind
and start over, but …
Continue reading “‘There are doors’ a short story by Christine Delano & Samantha Lucero”
- self-publishing my poetry book; dancing around with different designs, sparring with words that want to, need to be said, all tangled up with an impatience to have it mystically accomplished in under an (unrealistic) hour. this is largely for my daughters. as i’ve mentioned, it’s an epitaph in the event that my medical condition goes south quicker than what is expected. it isn’t expected to, but in my life the unexpected has been in the front lines. my life’s an infantry.
- another horror short story for an indie publishing company. (i’ll post an excerpt eventually.)
- considering posting the rest of ‘the horseman’ as one large post rather than continuing the ‘series’ style of post.
- more poems, of course.
- believing in something other than fatigue & pain.
i’ve been so isolated for a very, very long time that i sometimes stumble on my words in public and for this end up avoiding speaking. i deliberately go in public, but avoid people, because i love being outside. i live in a very interesting area with access to a lot of history and oddities; if you haven’t noticed, i’m into that.
i have been inwardly and outwardly cringing for so long though, and for so many reasons that have piled on my shoulders, making me feel like atlas, that i’m finding it difficult to finally relax now that i can and the world’s off my watch. i’ve had burdens and depression, anxiety, too long to just forget them and think they’re like smoke, just dissipating. i know better than that. the mind leaves leaves marks on itself, like falling asleep on a crease of your pillow. the dent takes time to soften.
i am true introvert and INFJ. this reminds me that i need to refresh my studies of carl jung. he had the same personality type as me, supposedly, and i fell in love with his work many years ago. introversion has nothing to do with being shy. it has to do with your reaction to stimulation. i am very easily overstimulated by loud noise, bright lights, too many people (or is that just my migraines?) — too much to focus on. i want to absorb things too readily. i think it’s because i like to pay close attention to things, one at a time, and end up doing so all at once. i’ve also read that introverts brains tend to pick up on all stimulation as animate (something to pay attention to.) rather than inanimate (looked over.), and therefore they hardly are letting their brain rest. my brain/mind seems to never rest. i wasn’t always like this.
not to mention i have two beautiful demons who need my energy as well.
speak of the devil …
it’s my desire that the membrane of
featureless dark slumbering between you
and a living, breathing world will
never scare you, not from letting go
i want you to be as untroubled as a feline shadow
stretching back like the vivid light in your young eyes
for you to know that nothing creeps
not in the crawling wisps of bedtime silence,
nor the neutered intentions
left inside the house spiders poisoned heart;
nothing waits there in the resting dark
nothing but folded up dust so neatly cached in
quiet relics long, small memories flung upon
the raw grass of ageless play
where moon meets sun, and sun meets moon
in endless day
think of the mythic wild,
aching for a secret of your river words
tree limbs undressed in winter
waiting for the untamed howl
of the green man’s oily summer yawn
the salt of the sea widowed on your cupid’s bow
a chorus of humming live creatures in the stars
and serenading you with indiscernible hymns
only a child can know and hear;
show me how to listen again.
look not in the cold dark where you cannot see
and think of lonely things which might hang
in the hard corners of your nearing sleep.
shut your eyes. let life rest.
think of the day and how in the dark
there is nothing that was not in the light.
and if there is
let it be afraid of y o u.
words = samantha lucero 2017 ©
image = wish i knew.