The Alma Files
From: Onyxvelvet@aol.com
Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2003 17:17:11 EST
Subject: hi
To: smorsepluggy@yahoo.com
Dear Stephen
Laura Stamps suggested (after we found we were both writing poems for new babies the same week) that i send you some poems I wrotefor a friend who is adopting a baby from Guatemala– in fact she is down there this week.
i thought i would send you the whole file– I just typed it– some variant versions etc– I don’t usually send to online magazines– seems harder to keep track of etc– but here are some
hope you like them– it was actually a request from her mother in law
that her friends write a poem for the new baby called AWAITING ALMA
best
Lyn
If you ever wondered how many drafts it takes to write a poem, then you should look at these and perhaps rephrase the question.
Stephen
ALMA
calla lilies and roses
cartwheel on her
bunting under
woven crimson
cloth. Behind her
kohl eyes, who
knows what dreams
grow. Emerald
and jade thru
shutters, she
clutches a plastic
ring as other
fingers long to
hold her, to
circle her in
arms, be the
ring her life
will slide into
easily as the
moon over her
almond skin,
like their love
ALMA KARMINA
singing without words
while the ones longing
for her wait for
her to turn their
words to singing.
The birds have started,
light’s coming back.
Somewhere in a jungle,
rose mist. She is on her way
Now the stillness of waiting,
the darkness of her hair
AWAITING ALMA
Like March, something
thaws, catches its
breath. I think of
blown glass giraffes
a heart beat could shatter
someone waits for her
breath, for the words to
be skin, her eyes,
obsidian flowers
someone can almost taste
her hair, has memorized
rose bud lips
They touch her photograph
the way you touch moonlight
YOUR HOUSE, DELILAH SAYS, SMELLS LIKE GUATEMALA
Awaiting Alma Karmina when your tangerine tree blooms.
She smiles, says its scent stays
in the house. I think of a
mahogany eyed baby, that
musk in her cotton, of
the sweetness waiting,
the arms longing to
hold her, a small flower.
The heart shaped petals
open, fill my house with
such sweetness it
fills every room
like Alma
WAITING FOR ALMA
Your house, Delilah says,
smells like Guatemala
when your tangerine
tree blooms. She smiles,
says its scent stays
in these rooms. I think
of a mahogany eyed
baby, that musk in
her cotton, of the
sweetness waiting,
the arms longing to
hold her, a small flower.
The heart shaped petals
open, fill my house with
such sweetness it
fills every room
like Alma
WHEN DELILAH TELLS ME LILIES
and tangerine trees
like mine grow all
over Guatemala, are
in bloom when we
have snow, I tell her
a friend will have a
daughter probably
from some town
close to such sweet-
ness. She beams, Ait
will bring her beauty
and sweetness, like
these blossoms. The
sweetest petals I
ever had in my house,
they fill each room,
a delicate spray. They
are special as a baby’s
fingers she tells
me a delight she
says like this
new baby will bring
AWAITING ALMA
when Delilah tells me
lilies and tangerine
trees like mine grow
all over Guatemala,
are in bloom when
we have snow, I tell
her a friend will have
a daughter probably
from some town
close to such sweet-
ness. She beams, Ait
will bring her beauty
and sweetness, like
these blossoms. The
sweetest petals I
ever had in my house,
they fill each room,
a delicate spray. They
are special as a baby’s
fingers she tells
me a delight she
says like this
new baby will bring
IN YOUR HOUSE DELILAH SAYS
I smell Guatemala,
a scent sweeter than
lilies. AIn my old
country, she says
Athey cover the
tangerine trees and
orange blossoms,
keep them under
wraps. I think
of the baby my friend
waits for. A We can’t
see the petals, she says
so we dream of their
sweetness, imagine
each petal waiting,
sweet and fragile
as a baby’s fingers,
skin, a gift we can
barely wait for the
weeks ahead to
unwrap
AWAITING ALMA
In your house, Delilah
says, I smell Guatemala,
a scent sweeter than
lilies. AIn my old
country, she says
Athey cover the
tangerine trees and
orange blossoms,
keep them under
wraps. I think
of the baby my friend
waits for. AWe can=t
see the petals, she says
so we dream of their
sweetness, imagine
each petal waiting,
sweet and fragile
as a baby’s fingers,
skin, a gift we can
barely wait for the
weeks ahead to
unwrap
FOR ALMA KARMINA
In a quilt of crimson,
wrapped in blazing cotton.
In a dream past Mayan
stones where stars
trail lilies and jaguars.
Alma, sweet bud opening,
waiting for fingers,
awaiting the arms
that dream of
holding her. Onyx
eyes, a song about
to flower, a song of
flowering in a
country where flowers
bloom all night, cover
everything: Alma Karmina,
even her name a
flower singing,
a lullaby
FOR ALMA KARMINA
in a quilt of
cotton where
flowers bloom
in the night
star trails and
volcanos, past
the trees of
Guatemala,
a song blooming.
Lilies in her
hair, her dark eyes,
Alma, the soul,
the beginning of
the alphabet
waiting to sing
–Lyn Lifshin
