Andrea Juillerat-Olvera is a scholar and thinker creating on a multitude of levels. Her writing is informed by daily exposure to a broad range of learning environments and time spent living abroad.
how thirsty the rock
how dire the scrub
even the persistent sage withers
the world becomes a raisin
sit with empty palms
for the wound to stop weeping
for the crying sky
recalling my sharp
when I seemed to go faster than everything else
swimming where I shouldn’t swim
pushing the limits of chemical cocktails
splayed on musical tile
staring at the underside of a bathroom sink
broken glass on nightclub floors
trying so hard to stay beautiful
to live in the lap of life
…and it pets me I’m a good…
In 2013, I produced and directed a flash mob performance during our local summer Artown Festival. Eighteen performers, masked and costumed, unexpectedly gathered in the plaza for a chaotic dance that united three diverse tribes of characters. The entire project took more than a year to realize, cost several thousand dollars, and lasted about 10 minutes. For myself and everyone involved, that investment was well worth the effort. We delivered a sudden burst of grand beauty to the festival crowds gathered in Reno that day.
Two years earlier, I had completed my MFA (Master of Fine Arts) degree in performance…
like holographic banshees
and no one had to wear masks
because it was a dream.
I had a little orange cat that followed me everywhere
gingerly avoiding the thorns
the waft of flowers
an abundance of textiles
little pots of colored water
days like confetti
a whirlwind of sparkly bits
time curls forward and pulls my hair with it
into evolving landscapes of snow and gray
mahogany adorned with frost.
When my heart
beats in the body of a hawk
soaring above the Western Lands
forgetting the pain of manifestation
leaving my skin behind
I’ll traverse the fractal bridge
by the ghosts of broken-wing birds
rising into warp speed undulation
ferried by a prehensile cosmic cetacean
a massive body that turns and flexes
while I ride along
awash in the sublime.
Gluey eyelashes recoil
I slog down the hall
it is a tactile navigation
infiltrating the shower
eager acquiescence to steam
baptismal for the eyes
a banquet of soaps
I am saved.
Some happiness greets me in the form
of slow-cooked pinhead oats
spooned into a black porcelain bowl
pad of butter
splash of milk
seduced by their provocative texture
a flocculent song on the tongue
but in the center of each note
a chewy bead
roll it around
then crush it between your teeth
and feel that satisfying internal snap.
Don’t go look out the window…
I’ll be a thousand butterflies
dressed in wing-powder pigments
into a billion seconds of beauty
the nectar of lust
days in the sun
conjoined in creation.
her perfumed darkness
a prism of radiant threads
embroidered on infinite black velvet
supine at her lover’s side
diamonds born of their shared heart
needled into night’s sky
omnipresent currents merging.
I know it was worth the cost
to be the fat green caterpillar
and pale Luna moth
worshiping the moon to death
by dark opal.
Awakening I’ve forgotten When did I enter this avatar? How…
Blood orange red
bloodshot at midnight
would be lovers
brazen as paint spilled on a wooden floor
beets boiled late at night
drained in a white porcelain sink
a fuchsia murder.
Red wears the Madame
conducting a symphony of sex and tongues
red knows how to press your buttons
red is the only color my husband likes
a cape of woven petals
velvet American beauties
it is hidden among browns on the robin’s breast
a thousand kisses peppered across the landscape.
Red is the hottest…
Interpreter, Teacher, Artist.