“Three Questions,” “Exposed!” and “Flowers & Rebozos”

Issue 30 by Cindy Rinne

Three Questions

The baby boy comet will need a new kidney one day.

Robot cat understands found objects become body parts.

Eyes as stars watch this womb of bountiful fruit.

His birth among biospheres—containers of blue, green,

and orange leaves falling like tears. Later, waves of salad

and feathers toss the young child. He recovers and stands

naked on a cobalt orb.

His triangular mind

forms three questions:

How can the fawn sleep while dreaming of phone numbers?

What do twins ponder across the diffused landscape?

Does the goddess near the palm hold a lotus for prayer?

Red flags rip as he tries to find her lips in black heavens.

A distraction of jeweled butterflies with wings

in stop-motion. Below an elephant dances beyond an old

oak grove. One faceless trunk disconnects from its treetop.

He spies a spotted beast among soaring branches raging

past the lustrous cat and a radiating Madonna.

In the sky.

In the water.

In the roots.

Exposed!

It’s like the glorious glow

a candle makes

when the planetary citizen

cradles her flickering flame

in glass. Red cloth folds, drapes

head, shoulder, breast.

You draw a red circle,

encounter a young man

soaked in lemon light—skin taut—

not yet eroded like the boulders

that scrape his back.

The planetary citizen gazes

across the cosmos,

mother of all, like the pregnant

Madonna. Your green fingers

clasp her fertile pulse.

A snakewoman smears in his

shadow—naked body quivers

with snake appendages,

then cracks in half revealing inner

motors. Cables, wires,

and tubes hang like tentacles.

You try to give the planetary

citizen a name, but her body bursts

into branches cut by ropes

and silent screams.

He doesn’t see this balancing

act and senses snakewoman’s

scent and scales. The word breathe

woodcut into the atmosphere

as the Madonna births a planet.

Your chromosomes desire

to live there. Lattice disguises

the hiss of snakewoman’s hollow

heart. If he travels near the speed

of light, will he age slower

than the chafe of her?

Flowers & Rebozos

Rockets exploded blue

fuzzy edges—

stars scattered like seeds

over Funeral Mountains

held burial shroud

yucca spikes

Daisies whispered across

her chest.

She placed two burgundy

lilies in a vase

to share what was lost

what water was left

It’s as if melted wax

wept flowers

pearls,

lingerie and

alphabets. Unspoken

words kaleidoscoped her

mind, but the parrot

squawked,

Time to go

During the procession,

Granddaughter adorned herself—

crown of eucalyptus,

dragonflies and wild

grasses; mask of roses;

candy skull earrings and

a rebozo

turquoise and yellow

finely woven

knotted of rayon and silk

with matching feather

fringe. Her grandmother

had created it as gossip flew

Granddaughter’s eyes—

sparkly irises dripped

jewels

About the Author

Cindy Rinne

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Cindy Rinne creates art and writes in San Bernardino, CA. She is Poet in Residence for the Neutra Institute Gallery and Museum. Cindy is the author of several books: Letters Under Rock (Elyssar Press), Moon of Many Petals (Cholla Needles Press), Listen to the Codex (Yak Press), and others. Her poetry appeared or is forthcoming in: Anti-Herion Chic, Unpsychology Magazine, MORIA, Verse of Silence, several anthologies, and others.