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.
Flagged from hurt
still plunging forward on my cane
clothes are strewn across the floor
we need a vacuum, and we don’t have one
I want a cat, and we don’t have that either.
Please soothe this brow
promise no more of the madness
I don’t know who went cackling into the night
or if the one who returned was still me
retreat the colors from the front lines
send in mental medics.
But — keep the motor running clean
I’d like to go again…
not to the precipice
not to the very edge
not looking over
not to imagine falling
not feeling the tug of…
In the green raw space of morning
you enter my mind, Devani
graceful as a leaf filtering sun and mist
ghost feet moving toward the altar
awash in murmurs of reverence
for life and death — just the same.
I recall your easy arrangement of potted plants
breathing the sky in gray light
beneath your windows
a shelter for rejected animals
in the chambers of your heart
you held them so close
their corpses in your freezer
waiting in stasis
still-life in fur.
You hair dyed as fresh blood
crimson lips colliding in the vulva of your…
Since you could not keep yourself from becoming a monster
we shall eliminate the abyss
stop your escaping
into some other dimension of mad pride
misguided urge to attain escape velocity
leaving the husk to rot…
And what of the children?
You bestow upon them
this dying planet
yoked by stone-age morality and god-like technology
carried weeping on the currents of innocent hands
with bone crushing and radioactive spit
clean faces cut short
only the roar of vacuum escaping
where we must purchase light and hope
purchase buoyancy on a drowning planet.
I will live to see the…
You roam the land surrounded by opulence
dancing on quintessential lakes
seizing the colors of dawn to paint everything so much more beautiful
than it ever was…
embedding flowers in wet plaster
changing walls into dreams.
Feet of joy glide down to the shore
your freckles mirror a thousand sparkles on the water
swooning blue eyes and Irish laughter
the feathered serpent incarnate
messiah of beauty manifest in breath
nested in the tree of time.
Cherished twin star
we have found our balance
on the corners of your smile
in the knowing of your straight white teeth
your delicate tongue moving like a moth
At night I dream shallow
too many words clog the byways of my brain
approaching the precipice
the sun heaves light across the solar system
her planetary suitors orbiting in awe.
What kind of bird is that?
he could never say…
she wore the night around her eyes
moonchild blush and blue
sitting down to rest at the end of the future
singing the song of the blind
worshiping the whip snap sky
a full spectrum of grayscale ever moving.
Enrapt and bitter
we threw our masks down
engorged by profuse longing
so that every inch of it might belong (to…
We strike and hide
survived the high,
we almost died.
We got the scar of the city
in our eyes.
We don’t say much,
but we don’t tell lies.
We’re all alone
at the same time,
scraping our pockets
trying to buy a dime.
We all think we could die soon.
We all hope we last through June.
And I’ll be drinking beers
at the pool hall
waiting for them
to take their shot.
Run to here for oblivion,
oblivion’s what I got.
Andrea Juillerat-Olvera ~ written in 1989
Interpreter, Teacher, Artist.