Notes from Philly weblog

Consuelo: Confelin

with 2 comments

Her greetings over the top.
Preciosa, hija divina!
Her kisses not a burden:
the way of sloppy elders.
Reaching up the smell was pleasant.
Consuelo erect. We stood taller.
Always the race out back
into the playhouse built to scale. Table, chairs, real cups.
Sweet Benigno (whispers that he gambled)
built it for their only child.

We called her Confelin
drama queen, stage madre.
Mother of extravagance. Well,
her Olgita turned out well: Concert pianist, scholar.
I loved to hear Consuelo praise the family.
Aren’t you sad? I asked
knowing all the losses.
I’m crying in my heart.


Written by Lesley Valdes

November 8, 2009 at 5:19 pm

2 Responses

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  1. This poem is fab. I love verse scenes. especially when there are drama queens and stage madres lurking. Frank would love this. ta, Lew


    November 9, 2009 at 12:05 am

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