Search This Blog

Loading...

Monday, May 18, 2015

Poetry Chapbook- available now! Uncaged: A Thousand Suns

Hi, you can now get my chapbook by sending $6 via Paypal to cravatica@gmail.com. This is a 25-page booklet, which will be printed on vellum paper and bound in heavy cardstock. Thanks for supporting my art!

I'll be selling these books in person at the Underground Publishers Convention at Lawn Gnome Books, on May 29th, 7:00pm-10:00pm. (located at 905 N 5th St, Phoenix, AZ 85004Come out and see me, get your book signed! Support local/Indie publishing. I'll have copies of my zine available for sale as well.



Becoming

So many things are becoming right now
At times I feel I can’t keep up
with the rapid flow of energy
that is creating
the things I have wanted for so long
but then I remember that I worked really hard to
get myself into this space
and that all things are flowing as they should
and in the right time

I’m booking the travels I have so longed for
creating books
of poems for real people to see
letting my light shine through those little
chasms
where brokenness used to reside.
No longer broken
But becoming.

Not wishing
But creating
Doing
for me, for my children.
I am alive
for the first time

In years.  

Monday, May 11, 2015

Moon Set, May

Part 9, Endings.

We fought. Not really a fight
but all night-discussing-things-that-were-hard-until the sun came up. 

Then he left, and we hadn't really resolved anything
ex
cept that we had. 

I was sad. sad sad sad sad. 

I have
learned that not everything I want
is for me. 
And that's
ok.

What I want to do is
dance with the people
who want to dance
with me.

I want to let my heart be
loved
and let it dance
out on my sleeve
with people who
appreciate
and will hold it like
the strong, fertile
offering
that it is. 

I want to hold my own
heart
like a seed. 
Plant it only in places
rich with sunlight
and abundant water.
Where the soil is plentiful with nutrients
to nurture it. 

I am surrounded by a family of people
who love me. 
and the love feels so enormous. It surrounds 
me, 
A beautiful rainbow cloud
bursting with fresh water.

What happened with ** needed to happen. 
I do not regret any of it. 

I hope he finds his way, 
but I am accepting 
if we don't cross paths
again
in a significant way. 
I'll be sad, but I have 
learned that not everything I want
is for me. 

and that's ok.
I want to protect
my sparrow-heart from 
those who will 
toss it in vinegar. 
and cover it with 
ashes. 

Endings are never really endings.
Death is only the beginning. 

I have 
learned that not everything I want
is for me. 
But there are always flowers. 
And oak trees. 
And coming home. 


Monday, March 2, 2015

Ant Poem

Curled against the smooth shape of your body
one month after we break up
It feels so comfortable and good and I wonder why we had to
end things.
I see an ant carrying more than its body weight and I remember that
was how I felt most of the time when we were together.

That night I brought you home after reading
the sex poem about you at the Queer open mic
and I made you come so hard you left a sweat stain in the shape of
your body on my bed,
we had to change the sheets before we went to sleep
and in the morning you asked me to breakfast
and over crepes you asked me if I thought I had made a mistake
breaking up with you.
Looking over my decaf latte, my heart lurched a little into my throat
and as I gulped it down I said “No.”
“Do you mean because of that poem I wrote?”
and you nodded, “Yeah.”
I said no again, and then I told you about the ant, carrying more
than its share of the weight,
and you sighed that heavy sigh
and even though I could not see your eyes behind your sunglasses
I believed that your sigh breathed the relief that I felt.
You put your hand so kindly, so softly on my upper arm and you said,
“I felt like that too.”
And then it was my turn to sigh a heavy breath of release.

Then you said “That’s why in that letter I wrote you
I said that line- ‘We tried. Goddamn Did we try.’”
And then we both just sat there
nodding at each other
in mutual
understanding.
Until I started to cry.
One big, movie-style tear, just rolling down my face, slowly.
You joked, “Are those happy tears?”
And I shook my head no,
and said, “These are because I am feeling again
just how HEAVY that felt and how HEAVY our relationship was.
I weighed too much. You needed so much
and I am sorry. I’m sorry that I needed more but I did.”
And you said, “I’m sorry too.”
And I chuckled at how, one month later we are still sleeping
together and we’re still spending hours processing
that we’re still sleeping together--
“Is this okay for you/do you have expectations/I don’t have expectations/but I want to be
sure that I don’t start to get them by accident/I mean by default/I mean we are lesbians after all,”
And everyone knows how much we like to process shit
and how women can’t have sex with no strings
and how our emotions, tied up with the moons and the tides
can’t ever just be simple. And I’m okay with that.
Because we’re on the same page.
Maybe two sides of the same coin.
And I still fucking love you

and you can’t just turn that shit off.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Primordial Soup- Journey to Aravaipa

Caterpillar soup, she said
Dark night of the soul, Medicine woman,
Priestess, Goddess, Serpent,
Listen, Listen. 
Grandmothers swirling
singing
Listen, Listen.
Mariposa vine, butterfly, sacred Mother,
Listen, Listen.
Daughter, breasts milkfull, sits on top of 
full moon, holding child to her bosom,
water, wolf medicine, serpent
Listen, Listen.  

Lodge, holding us, 
womblike
in its heat, sound swells up like
heartbeat, close in
we beat together,
release together
pray together
Making offerings through
melodic voices, 
chant, yell, whoop, howl, let go, 
make new.

Circle at fire, arms to the heavens, 
listen to heartsong.
Listen, Listen. 
Sisters, 
holding hands, we try to send 
our otherworldly guest to her celestial 
home.
In the quiet of the night, 
we wash each other's hands
with salt
symbolizing we are all the same,

Journeying, I am given salt, 
milk, flour, Grandmother wipes hands on apron,
Hair tied up in braids,
and I am given a yellow apron the next day by 
my yellow-haired pie-sister.

Sisters, we travel
to this magical land 
and make it even more sacred
with our ceremony, 
our communion, 
prayers, gifts, love, 
offerings. Mountain watches over 
each day and night, 
soundly, quietly
while river rushes by, washing away any 
remnants we no longer need.

Each of us stands
taller now, 
more in our own power.
(Stand in your power, Woman)
Listen, Listen
As we return back from where we came
not one the same 
as when we started
the Journey.

Gratitude swells, 
Listen, Listen. 

Friday, September 19, 2014

Crumbling

I am crumbling
So let me crumble.
That which I was
trying to be was
never going to be enough.
I have stepped into the
fire and I am
at the well
asking for just one
drink
of water.

I have walked to the tree as many times
as I can handle
blowing my whistle.
Eagle cry--
I spread my eagle arms
to the Great Mystery
and I ask to take
one drink.
One rest.
One step.
I know that what I need now
is rest.

I know that I push myself too hard
in the wrong directions.
I am done with the pushing.
I am finished
belaboring the point.
I stand at your sacred feet
and let your waterfall love
wash over my face.

I cup my hands under your
sacred spring
and let the fresh life-giving
liquid spill onto me.

I Surrender.
I Surrender.
I Surrender.

Say it three times and
it might become true

A magic spell.
I am already enough,
Dear Spirit,
Let my sacred compassion
fill my cup now.

Let me, Great mystery,
recognize the parts of me that
are you,
that are enough,
Let my Self well up
with an eternal spring
of joy and love
Free from self-recrimination.
Let me see that I am.
That I am.
That I am.
I am you.

Let me see the truth of who I am.
Let me be washed free
and the anchor let loose,
falling down to the 
bottomless depths.

Let me lift up to join you,
sacred union.
Let me be free of fear
and free of the parts of me
that hold on too tightly.
Let me trust love now.  

9/19/14

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Lyric

The golden-haired girl and the singing children

Matteo said they would guide me to the next step.
Hair like Lyra, I imagine, long and flaxen,

But what if it’s not that way at all? What if she
is not a child,
or what if my inner child

I had long golden locks when I was small.
And what of the singing children?

Could there be something as simple
as Sesame Street
“Sunny Days,
Everything’s A-OK.”

And this curandera
could be Darcey. Could be
the doula
who will help me birth this next thing

I don’t have to solve anything
because it is already written.
Just play.

And know that you are being welcomed
into the dream world now.

Know that. You
no longer have to fight
in the mad world.
Surrender.