Carnation

In a field of flowers
Saulo chooses a single carnation
White with red tips.
He bends down, cuts it off
From its roots, turns
With a gentle smile, places
It behind Camela's ear.
What a way to live
To die in a woman's hair.

by E. M. Soos

Christmas in Southern California

A red shopping cart narrowly misses my toes,
I stumble an excuse me, navigating
Through Target. Ten days 'til Christmas
Every register open and full.
I'm grateful I can't read people's thoughts
The lists of gifts, anger at strangers
Shock at prices, worries of bounced checks
Hope for a mother-in-law's approval.
I love these people through the discord
The one connection in my scattered tree
Roots. Just like Target, I have no main room
Where everyone meets. Family in different
States, friends in different cities, love indifferent.
We all come together at the check-out counter
Pay our dues, say our hellos and goodbyes
Pass the beggar, tell our lies.
I watch the frowns disperse.
In the land of sun and pavement
We cannot find a single rose
To stop and smell.

by E. M. Soos

The 91 Bus

Jamie stood alone by the dim streetlight,
Watching for the 91 bus.
She felt his presence too late.
Dirty hand on her mouth
Knife to her side. She didn't struggle
Let him push her into the baby blue van.

No seats in the back, he made her lay
Down. To her left a pile of blankets
On her right an empty McD's wrapper.
He slapped her face over and over
Getting his hard-on; peeled her
Orange layers, tossing aside her skin.
He dug into dry undergrowth.
Jamie turned her head
Stared at his white Keds
Her mind a rolodex of images

Her professor's face tonight
When she came in ten past eight
(still in her work uniform)
History class would save her future
Get her family out of this neighborhood
(but even rich kids have pedophile grandpas).

Papa watching the ten o'clock news
(she wasn't on it yet)
Waiting for her return.
Leftover rice and frijoles in the fridge.

Mami's old pink sweater
(Jamie almost wore it tonight)
Forgotten in the hall closet.

Jamie's thoughts encased her in glass
A sapphire in the hands of a thief.

by E. M. Soos

I'm Not Even Here

We went searching, looking
For a speaking apartment
One that would tell us our love will last
Call us friends, accept our lovemaking
In every room, laugh with our inside jokes
Shade out the calling Jehovah's Witnesses,
Their non-judgmental looks of pity
When we say we're not married.

We stepped into Pinecreek Village
White walls, new marble tile
Close to the freeways, college across
Every store in walking distance.
We'd never have to leave
Every desire peanut butter.
It's perfect for your skin. Safe

Place to raise kids.
They'll rise along with ignorance
Be afraid of the ghetto, never have to eat Spam
Measure themselves with possessions
Think to want is to not get
Hollywood Barbie for Christmas
Never be ashamed to bring friends home
Not even know their sheets match.

My flip-flopped heart still wears sandals
Even as my feet are pinched into dress boots.
My breasts still sag in this push-up bra.
I pretend to like Beyonce, but
I come with Joni Mitchell.
You say we don't have to stay here forever
Well, darling, I'm not even here.

by E. M. Soos

"V"

Each time I talk to V
I am pulled into her world
The moon to the earth.

She's lost another baby
In another fight with L.
He chased her to the bathroom
Shattered shower doors.

Two months V stayed in bed
L nursed her
Back
To his side.

The bit lays loose on her tongue.
He fondles the reigns lovingly
Mounts her, runs her weary
Squeezes her spirit
With the heel of his boot.

At the end of each day's ride
She enters her stall grateful.
Laps water from his hands.

by E. M. Soos