17 Santa Cruz Poets — The 17th Annual National Poetry Month - 2012 PreviousNextHome


 

Lauren Crux

Lauren Crux

 
About Lauren:

LAUREN CRUX, a dual citizen of the US and Canada (she was born in Canada), loves the West, especially the left/west coast, where she can easily stand with her toes up to the edge the ocean and stare out to sea (see). Her writing and photography has been published in a variety of journals and anthologies. She is also a performance artist and has written and performed five solo shows and participated in numerous group shows performing all over the place. Her personal essay, “On Reading Anne Carson’s Nox,” was recently published in “Poetry Flash,” and her performance monologue, “Dinosaurs & Haircuts,” appeared in “TRIVIA: Voices of Feminism,” and has been made into a limited edition art book. Her day job is the art of psychotherapy. At night she writes. She has an "occasional blog" on creative process, "news 'n notes" on her website: www.laurencruxartist.com.

Again

She must have held me like this––
one hand cradling my head, the other
the sacred bone at the base of my spine.

She must have leaned down and breathed
into me, so close I could smell her––
     I almost remember the smell of her––
She must have.

How else would I know to fall
back like this, my entire body
given over––

like the black swan, her arabesque
falling backwards into the arms
of her love.

 

It is the Hour
  for Naomi Shihab Nye

It is the hour

when the mothers and the poets
when the gardeners and the painters

rise
to write

it is the hour of darkness when the Buddhists rise to sit

when the body moves out of time’s sleep into morning’s aching

it is the hour when no one needs you

it is the hour when cats stalk each other with graceful stealth

it is the hour when the black jacket of loneliness hangs tired
on the back of the bedroom door

it is the hour when you wake to a borrowed room filled with boxes
of old photographs, a child’s collection of sandollars, and
you lie perfectly still, only your eyes remembering

it is the hour when you decide to heed the poet’s advice
so that you can get on with your life

losing it moment by moment


Red Wagon

This little red wagon
axel bound and wheel true
keeps veering off track
a wayward child rushing
everywhere at once
here there  this way that
arms    legs 
gawky and galumphing
swivels and swerves
through silt and sand
banging and bumping
over stone and ditch
heedless of edges
of waterfalls
darting and dodging
laughing and shrieking
this red wagon of waywardness
that calls out for something
it cannot imagine        
            water that is dry          
            a song that can't be sung         
            words with no sounds


Ancheta || Atkinson || Crux || Dancing Bear || Freeman || Glick || Ifland || Moody || Omosupe || Robbins || Sirens || Spencer || Sullivan || Sumrall || Tagami || Teutsch || Weisner
  Co-sponsored by Poetry Santa Cruz and phren-Z   A publication of Santa Cruz Writes