Mireya Perez Bustillo

Reclaimed

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

Under the portals where scribes personalized
model letters to hearts and dutiful ones to mothers
near the entrance of the fortress within thickness of walled city
when presidents were poets el Bodegón gathered
el tuerto Luis, el cojo Manuel and abuelo to flail
in rhyming matches at Castilian sentimentality
writing odes to old shoes, sending shirts to la República
joining Neruda to cry at shelled Madrid.
Downing dark tintos dampness staining white linen,
smudging cuffs and manuscripts, wiring nerves, bulging eyes,
feverish, he wrote sleeplessness forfeiting judgeship,
piling curling onionskins in rented room in Plaza de los Coches
leaving abuela, niños, casa in the foothill of the monastery
Where some liberated Kongos once worshipped a golden she goat.
To take the cure, no one ever talked about, he left her
alone except for the hands that could turn string to lace
and patio fruit to cocadas and tamarind balls
turning garage to a tienda, abuela stopped tongues
showing a señora could work.
Sixty years later in this square near the arch
I know she would delight in a cherry cheesecake
attentive to the display and the conduct of the business,
while abuelo blooming from the rest
would nurse a cappuccino as he constructed
an ode to a recycling bin.

Mireya Perez-Bustillo writes poetry and fiction in Spanish and English. Her poetry appears in MOM’s EGG; Caribbean Review; Americas Review; Dinner with the Muse, IRP Voices, among others. Her novel, Back to El Dorado (Floricanto Press,2020), a Latina coming-of-age story, is available on Barnes and Noble and Amazon sites.

Cordillera Oriental

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

 

Verdigris      lianas       spruce

 

moss       olive      emerald

 

lime      pine    grass    clovers    palms

 

helechos       peacock       mint

 

parrot     lettuce    cabbage    capers

xxxxxxnot

vermillion    ochre    terracotta    sienna

xxxxmy   xxxAndes

 

Mireya Perez-Bustillo writes poetry and fiction in Spanish and English. Her poetry appears in MOM’s EGG; Caribbean Review; Americas Review; Dinner with the Muse, IRP Voices, among others. Her novel, Back to El Dorado (Floricanto Press,2020), a Latina coming-of-age story, is available on Barnes and Noble and Amazon sites.

Bed

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

A woman filled with the gladness of living
Places clean fragrant sheets
Lavender sacheted
On the bed
Which hold the orange blossoms of her wedding
The rose petals he places there
After she returns
Covered with jasmine oil
Ready to please him
Putting there softness caresses
Sighs of pleasure
Next to the timelessness
Of her beauty

Mireya Perez-Bustillo writes poetry and fiction in Spanish and English. Her poetry appears in MOM’s EGG; Caribbean Review; Americas Review; Dinner with the Muse, IRP Voices, among others. Her novel, Back to El Dorado (Floricanto Press,2020), a Latina coming-of-age story, is available on Barnes and Noble and Amazon sites.

A Cow Jumped Over the Moon

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

To see what she could see
To know her name beyond the number
xxxxxdangling from her ears
Rumors she’d heard of cows resting in Swiss pastures
xxxxxand others nearer feasting in grassy fields
xxxxxwith mountain views at “The Farm of Happy Cows”
There was talk of Tartine, a brown and white Holstein
xxxxxwho relished in her daily head rubs
xxxxxand her sister heifers mooing at massages
xxxxxfrom large round hanging brushes
xxxxxwhile they marveled at their clean hooves,
xxxxxthe fresh straw, the milking twice a day
Some say she was moved by a yearning for a cowbell
xxxxxor that she longed for Govinda, the divine cowherd
Others heard her wish for the eternal return
xxxxxto her original Maasi herd
xxxxxor maybe it was the stench of the chopping block
We only know that on Wednesday
xxxxxshe hoofed it out of the Musa Halal Slaughterhouse
xxxxxhooves darting down 109th Avenue
xxxxxdodging cars, cops, butchers
xxxxxcutting through the Drake’s driveway
xxxxxbusting the Farley’s fence
xxxxxcornered, lassoed, tranquilized
xxxxxshe learned the rumors were true
xxxxxNow she eats, sleeps, ruminates all day
xxxxxat ease from horns to tail
xxxxxdeep in the countryside
xxxxxfull in her cowness
xxxxxshe moos at the whiff of lilacs

Mireya Perez-Bustillo writes poetry and fiction in Spanish and English. Her poetry appears in MOM’s EGG; Caribbean Review; Americas Review; Dinner with the Muse, IRP Voices, among others. Her novel, Back to El Dorado (Floricanto Press, 2020), a Latina coming-of-age story, is available on Barnes and Noble and Amazon sites.

Chapelle du Rosaire, Vence

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To Henri Matisse

by Mireya Perez Bustillo

Where a clarity favors
royal palms over wedding cake buildings
he meditated on light

Here he wanted to draw the light
of the sea, the space, the mimosa
with bits of glass he colored
ripples to dance on white marble
a water moving to the sun
not knowing he could make a solid liquid
wanting only the light

Mireya Perez-Bustillo writes poetry and fiction in Spanish and English. Her poetry appears in MOM’s EGG; Caribbean Review; Americas Review; Dinner with the Muse, IRP Voices, among others. Her novel, Back to El Dorado (Floricanto Press,2020), a Latina coming-of-age story, is available on Barnes and Noble and Amazon sites.

This Hand

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

In 1588 the Dutch sculptor
Henrick Goltzius drew his right hand
Strong gnarled
With knobbed knuckles
And strong wrist
With the white cuff rolled up
The veins bulging
Today I see my right hand
Delicate weakened
My wrists a narrow cuff
My thumb
Not its normal self
As it knows
It needs to rest
A while
And
Write another way
A week before its surgery

Bubbling

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

Like a beetle under a frog’s skin
the paint bubbled larger with the heat
almost ready to burst like when she
held “number one” under her belly was hard like
……………………………………………..a balloon.

Sarita liked to look at the bubble
When Miss Jones started with the questions:
……….What happened to the old woman
……….who lived in a shoe?
……….Why did the cow jump
……….over the moon?
……….What did Jack eat as he
……….sat in his corner?

In the bubble puff Sarita could see
“Rin Rin Renacuajo” “Mirringa Mirronga” and “Pastorcita”*
………And Miss Jones doesn’t even
………know why “Rin Rin” left all
………dressed up and so early, or
………why  “Pastorcita” lost all her sheep
………“Rin Rin” is the best and papi
………taught me it and I know
………it all and say it for the guests.

“Sarita, Sarita, there you go again… “
………And I bet Miss Jones doesn’t
………know you say at the end
………“Colorin, Colorado, este cuento
………se ha acabado” ** And
………She doesn’t even know about the bubbling.

*Characters in nursery stories by Colombian writer, Rafael Pombo
** Traditional way of ending fairy tales and nursery rhymes in Spanish

Cross Dimensions

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

“Didn’t Our Lady smile
……at the Little Drummer Boy?
Didn’t the Brown Virgin appear
……to the poor Indian Juan?
And in Fatima to the three children?
I knew it would happen
Wasn’t I so good?
Didn’t I collect cents for the
……children of China?
Didn’t I cross myself before eating
……and make restitution for the stolen cookie?
I knew where, too.
Not on the left altar by the statue
……that moved when I stared at it.
That was too easy.
I knew it would be on the Elm
……by the corner of the Church.
To test my readiness
I must do what the saints did
……Mortify my flesh.
Dig my nails into my palms
……and not cry out
So God could see
……I was ready.
I read that the Lord came
……to St. Ignatius
when his legs were wounded
so I bound rubber bands around
……my calves to impress Him more.
‘See God, see, how ready I am.’
Was it a hair on my cheek?
Tossing my hair back, I felt it still
A feathery caress, a rustling
……behind me
A filling of the air
An arc enveloping …
I knew it would happen.”

So Say the Ancient Chibcha

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

 

Before what was to be was
when all was omnipresent potential
like a fragrance lingering
There was Madre Abuela de Bacatá
She, Abuela to gods who birthed
Chiminigagua, formless, essence of light who yearned to give his light
Needing form he created the large black
flying ones, oily of feather, curving of beak
to slice through nebulousness
to pour forth sun-light
the flying shiny black ones
birds, he called them
were gifted a long-sight precision to guide
beaks full of incandescent breath
very vapor of sun life to sparkle air
to rain multicolor sunrays
breath that birthed us
So say the ancestors.
Others say the ancient shamans were
those first abuelos and abuelas
of the high cold Andes whose skin frosted
who shook shook seeking warmth
A shook so deep it sprouted them
a softness surfacing on their skin
a froth downy on arms, legs, torso
slowly smoothing into sleekness
strong, resilient, shiny, a flutter new
that lifted them in the light air
Plumes of power the elders say
Plumes givers to ancient teachings
Some say.
No, no others say.
It was Madre Bachué, the one who came from
the waters with the child by the hand
She the Knower when she entered the forest
where a sweetness swaying trees held her
wondering if it was the human’s song
She moved to catch the sounds
glints gliding too fast green, red, yellow, turquoise
a splendor not human a polychromed light
only feathered ones sacred to Father Sué
multicolor loros and guacamayos could emit
She knew then their plumes would crown priests, chiefs
their ceremonial mantas,
yellow reflection of Sué most powerful
So they say.

 

Mireya Perez Bustillo: Mireya’s poems invoke a powerful array of spirits. Her poetry appears in Caribbean Review, IRP Voices, Anthology of Colombian Women Poets, among others.

From the Motril Road

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by Mireya Perez Bustillo

 

En medio del camino
they say Boabdil, the young Moorish
King of Granada
his soul darkened turned on the bridge
after he had turned over the keys
to the Alcázar and the Alhambra
on a silken pillow
to the conqueros Isabella and Ferdinand
that second of January in 1492
The Sun’s shadow in him
Boabdil turned turned
one last time
en medio del camino
to see the red splendor of Alhambra
the shimmer of Alcázar
Home to his ancestors for 700 years
a “paradise on earth” the sages said
where orange and jasmine scented patios and courts
where the sun and wind were freely admitted
and water, a visual and musical treat
trickled, bubbled, cascaded
in fountains, gardens and baths
to sparkle bodies and spirits
All turned over to the armored regents
their victory banners fluttering
their fighting horses reined in
their mounted minions waiting
All eyes on him, Boabdil on his black mount
rides slowly to the rocky prominence
before the bridge South
He turns for one last look
trembling, pressure rises in his chest
He turns for one last look
a sigh he can’t control spills
through quivering lips
Ay, Ay de mi Alhambra!

 

Mireya Perez Bustillo: Mireya’s poems invoke a powerful array of spirits. Her poetry appears in Caribbean Review, IRP Voices, Anthology of Colombian Women Poets, among others.