A small flotilla of poems for the aquatically challenged.
THE LOCAL LOCALS
why new jersey girls go barefoot: sand
why new mexico girls do not: cactus
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mother gaia knows me – she could pick up my scent anywhere I’ve been.
and any-when.
i don’t try to be untrackable, it’s just i prefer to be untraceable.
more random wisdom for a random age.
teach your self-talk out loud.
be sure to hear it with both ears as it is meant to be heard
bloody as a fairytale
unbecoming as days in front of a mirror
marking change
being strong
instead of beautiful.
LITTLE GIRLS & QUEENS
i don’t remember wanting to be a princess.
i knew from an early age i am only a queen.
queens don’t get a day off,
not if they’re doing the job right.
queens don’t give into presumption
they own that!
all it takes to be one is a remarkable memory
with a good education.
queens are an acquired taste, but there it is, nonetheless.
queens disdain working for others
but often despair of working for themselves.
they never should go into any family business.
we always observe the “no queens permitted” signs.
queens are often found along the stairways of their own palaces,
midway up or midway down.
wrapped in a cloak, they often face the wind
blowing away the secrets offered
queens are oracles of change
for better or worse in the kingdom.
queens surmount the barriers
then return to show the way.
WHERE LIGHT IS AN ELEMENT
new mexico is a land shaped by wind
telling long stories over sage & chaparral
we keep thinking an ending may occur
a solution to be had just over the next
endless horizon, if we pay attention.
really, there’s only mystery
the wind blows upward
seeding clouds with sand
there’s a blue beyond the color
we know as blue
this sky. this air. this wind.
we harvest what we plant
we walk in the gardens seeded by our own mouths
seasoned by our own water
willed into more than survival.
A PLANETARY MORNING
the light’s a little tilted
the spectra of other realms
we have a view now
above & below
like underwater cameras, dipping.
we are no longer individuals
as we clamor & bang our pots
to get the attention of God
(who’s been keeping up all along,
indeed, reflecting back to light our way.)
TRIANGULATION
the three blind mice
squared off & began
quartering the space
profligate thoughts
tossed back & forth
among the three
to this day,
i have no idea
if they ever got out.
THE WORLD
this world is full of consonants
the softening of vowels
lost in a well of expletives:
karate chop words
what happens in a world full of curses?
it is becalmed: the steady balance
of beauty, divinity, sacred pushback lost
until the “cursors” re-ignite with love
enough to tilt us home
nature bites back, burying curses into nullity
achieving blessing.
carol borsello MARCH 2021
Riding the Light 
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