Hello, blog readers! Welcome to another Wednesday and another installment of Pick-a-Poem. Every Wednesday, we pick a new poem to feature here on the blog. As usual, this week’s poem comes from Poetry Daily, which is a really great website that features a new poem every day. This week we’re featuring Self Portrait with Coyotes by Cynthia Cruz.
According to her bio page, Cynthia Cruz is the author of several poetry collections, including Ruin (2006), The Glimmering Room (2012), and the forthcoming How the End Begins (2016). Her work has also appeared in publications such as The Los Angeles Review of Books, Guernica, and The Rumpus. She is currently working on two poetry anthologies, one of Latina poets and another collecting work by female poets that discusses consumption and nourishment. She teaches at Sarah Lawrence College.
Self Portrait with Coyotes by Cynthia Cruz
Here, in this wilder part of the world, I am
Locked inside a wunderkammer-like
Diorama of hurt music.
Vagabonding in a gun metal dress
Making my way against the wind
Along the Great Highway.
And the Pacific still smashes
Against cliff rocks, owls
Still live in flocks in oak trees
Before the Exploratorium.
At four I awoke with a vision
Of death, in a hospital bed
In the Excelsior:
Tiger fur, and beaded rings of amethyst
And liquid onyx on fingers.
Crimson ribbons and powder pink
Stockings stitched in sequins.
Everything goes back to the Monroe House,
That strange blasted Eden.
Broken tool, that spilled
Mercury pool.
I hope you enjoyed this week’s poem! For more posts like this, click right here.
— Jet Fuel Blog Editor, Mary Egan
