Estelle Ana Baca

Month: May 2011

  • Spectral Classification in Mount Place.

    A little reverse double acrostic based on the OBAFGKM classification used for stars. I wrote it after staring out the window of the flat where I used to live, the charming one that overlooked Mount Place, Oxford. ♥

    “Spectral Classification in Mount Place”

    Over by those stones in the courtyard, damaged by the storm
    —bemusingly still in tact but weathered—I’m the thin crack,
    almost faint enough to miss if you aren’t really looking.
    Farther down the canal is where I live. I’m more than half-
    grizzled and twenty pounds shy, typical phenomena,
    kicking myself for not being more healthy. I’m just drab,
    making excuses for when my world was all Jericho.

  • Tooth.

    A microstorysketchylittlething I wrote a while ago. ♥

    He’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing. His approach is buoyed by a bravado that I’d never see if he were naked.

    That smile. That grin. Delicious.

    We’ll meet later tonight. There’ll be no shepherd—human or celestial—to watch over me, so when he arrives, it’ll be perfectly moonless. He’ll be perfectly helpless, too. I’ll be the only witness to his precious futility. I can smell his childish motivation all the way in the now. It’s as adorable as my sons’ pretensions to hunt birds, because I know that they enjoy the sounds of struggle more than failure or success.

    What realigns my spine with anticipation is that none—not one—of the sheep will see all that black blood spilling all over his costume.

    I’ll only have defended myself—that’s what I’ll say!—so when I cast off the costume over my costume, no one will know any different. I imagine that in my enthusiasm, I’ll end up losing a tooth in the effort. Or will it be his tooth? No matter—I’ll reclaim it without any remorse. It’s my nature.

    If only we could play this game forever… but it will end tonight. I’ll sense the fear of the wolf’s approach in those around me. It smells just like a churchyard…

    For when it’s over, my patience will have run as thin as the wool I’ve applied to conceal my weapons, to my need to survive outside captivity.

  • (Not there now.)

    Here’s a poem. It’s been webified, if you will, in that I’ve linked specific phrases to images on the web that correspond with what that which I typed into that delightful little Google Images search box. I just realized that I haven’t done this in a really long time. I used to post all my poems like this, back in the day. Huh.

    Anyway, this one’s for Catherine.

    (Not there now.)

    The street lights glazed over our gray-blue block,
    west of Fillmore, with orange loneliness,
    all the way to the airport, passing docks
    hinting to Red Hook, Greenpoint, and places

    of less color and more steel tip. From one
    home to another, where Catherine sings
    herself to sleep, to where Manhattan’s gone
    tilted over, the cars pell-mell falling

    to the eastern shores. Each sidewalk we go
    past is in their count to a thousand roads.

    Aaaaaaand if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Archangels, it’s that they don’t apologize. See you next week. ♥

  • Until Further Notice

    Nine months isn’t a terribly long time, in the whole scheme of things. Estelle wrote about a conversation we’d had about time from my perspective not too long ago. We’ve been working on this blog over the last nine months with the aim of presenting something for you every single Tuesday, and we’ve been extremely conscientious about it since the first week of August last year, too. Most of it has fallen upon my shoulders, though, and lately, I’ve had a hard time dealing with the past. I’d much rather spend my time concentrating on the present and the future, and fortunately, I work with someone who’s understanding enough to realize when I need a break.

    In the meantime, Estelle’s on point… until further notice… to employ a rather maddeningly-indirect, passively-aggressive phrase… My my my… aren’t humans something?

    Dominus vobiscum.

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