Nightmare
Sandy Benitez, September 2009
I awoke possessed by the sun
strangling me with octopus arms.
A loud cough expelled from my throat
like a demon exorcised.
The air was dry–my reasoning.
Above, the ruby stained glass
and wood cross dangling from the wall
mimicked a cathedral’s cavity.
Scent of burned candles lingered
beneath a singed spider’s web.
I said a prayer–waited for a sign.
But there was none.
Only the rustling of moth-eaten curtains
against the window pane.
The buzz of a fly hunting feces.
Where was the voice to proclaim
that everything would be okay.
The same voice I heard
when I was a child,
squeezing tiny bones together
as she whispered “goodnight.”
Limbo
Sandy Benitez, September 2009
Over the years,
the dusty town in the desert
seemed to suffer from osteoporosis.
Shrinking half an inch or more
as the cactus grew taller
and the sun became angrier.
The population had also shrunk
from 500 to 243. There was one
traffic light that no longer worked,
a cafe on the corner, and a barber shop
that offered free haircuts on Saturdays.
Rickety houses did their best
to stand on rotting legs. Stray puppies
ran in circles, chasing pickup truck
tires as if they were their mothers,
bloated from starvation.
Then one day, a little black puppy
returned with a tiny skull in its mouth.
Townspeople gasped in horror, wondering
if the skull could be that of a child
who died violently. Never realizing
that all of them had died long ago.
Walking in limbo like the lost puppies
they pretended not to see.
In the Orange Room
Sandy Benitez, September 2009
a hand-sewn quilt spreads its wings
like monarchs gathered on broken bark.
Soon, it will greet the sun. A daily
ritual accompanied by a pristine tray
of fruit and frothy cups of cappuccino.
The remote will rest comfortably beside
the man of the house. If it had a heart
and fur, he would call it a Pomeranian.
As a consolation, he names it Valencia,
after his first love.
The volume on the television heats up.
On the screen, cracked desert and cries
of AIDS infected children can be heard.
Their emaciated bodies heaving beneath
blotches of red sores.
“Ever heard of birth control?”
He throws a grapefruit rind in the trash,
misses the mark and curses its station.
Bored, he channel surfs. Burps and licks
the sticky residue from his fingertips,
leaving Valencia in a cocoon of juice
and white pith.
His stomach is queasy. He would replace
Valencia soon. Averse to ugly.
Sandy Benitez was born in Selma, Alabama and spent her childhood traveling the world as a military brat. Her poetry has appeared in over 85 print and online poetry journals such as Contemporary American Voices, Falling Star Magazine, The Clearfield Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, The Orange Room Review, Elimae, and Loch Raven Review. Sandy currently resides in Wyoming with her husband, 2 children, and 2 chocolate labs. Her first book of poetry, Ever Violet, by D-N Publishing is available by contacting the author at SandyB1070@msn.com.
