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  • Requiem, at a Loss


     “Goddammit!” he says, “Jesus Christ!”

    then silence – mostly.

    Sometimes, “No!”

    or “Oh,”

    then maybe, “it’s…it’s.”


    I wonder, without words, what

    shapes thought?  Tell me, moss rocks,

    glaciered bays, gouged trunks of trees.


    Tocking, tied, moon-wounded,

    we turmoil – never moving through.

    Unable to clank clay from the

    spade, agape as bell or elevator

    shaft.  More than silent:  snoring drafts,

    shattered timbers, flats and trowels

    tossed into a truck.


    We are shucked.  Splayed.

    Un-kerneled husks tumbled together,

    raked, naked in our

    stopped-up prayers.


    But without words without

    lines to describe the pitch

    and hiss of this, my father

    pounds and shoves,

    sniffs flowers, hugs and spits.

    Roaring, a silent fire,

    quietly fighting the full boil,

    a greening bulb unable to

    unfreeze its outer skin of glass.

    Until at last.


    ♦     ♦     ♦

    aubade:  oh! love

    hold my throat

                oh!  a toy

                            boat in your hand






    agitated pulse

                pull between



    poles  trees

                guy wires




                vibrato sky     

                            hallows our side

    on side.



    hold this moment

                the petal wet.



    hold well-flowers

                lichened brides

                            the mosséd grail.


    inscribe on homemade


                            brick on


    my thigh the


                            between us.



    here  hold our folded






                            oh   go


    be god.



    ♦      ♦      ♦

    Stand Your Ground


    Maybe because we can now see

    unseen blocks

    of ourselves, the twist and viral scurry, we

    take fewer journeys, assuming the stalk


    of my flower is different the same

    as yours.

                    Afraid, we walk

    slowly, one after another, wringing shame

    to hate, no shock,


    no longer awed by the bang, once start-

    ling bloom of red around the heart.


    About The Author

    Julie Ascarruz (960x1280)

    Julie Ascarrunz

    Julie Ascarrunz teaches English as a Second Language, Language Arts, and Newspaper at Centaurus High School in Lafayette, Colorado where she resides. She sees herself as a coach and facilitator: students learn the most from each other and the world around them. Ms. Ascarrunz speaks Spanish; has MAs in Educational Equity and Cultural Diversity and Creative Writing from The University of Colorado, and has taken classes at The Lighthouse Writers in Denver. Julie is a member of The Gamuts, a longstanding workshop group in East Boulder County and sings with the Colorado Repertory Singers. Her two sons are in college studying music and biology. She lives with three cats, two dogs, and the ghost of a box turtle named Galapago. Julie has work forthcoming in Main Street Rag, Calliope, and Camroc Press Review.  Learn more about Julie in publisher, bill berry’s interview:  http://aaduna.org/fallwinter2014/conversations/conversation-with-julie-ascarrunz/