Poetry by Tricia Marcella Cimera

​Dr. Matthias Ripp CC



​
Brute

So—he hits the girl.
He makes the dog howl.
He takes the prayer bowl
From the holy man,
Spits a little into it.
 
No—he shits in the bowl.
He kills the girl, the dog,
The holy man dead.
Why   do we always lie
For a goddamn brute?
 
 



Mother Turtle (Boxboro 1974)
 
In Guggins Brook I meet
A mute box turtle
Who lets me ride
On top of her shell
Through the green water   
Makes no promises
 
I cling to her hardness
Hanging on with fingers
Touching the unreadable
Pattern of her shell    I call
Her mother before she
           Shakes me loose




Tricia Marcella Cimera is a Midwestern Poet with a worldview.  Her poems have appeared in various diverse journals online and in print.  She lives, writes, despairs, and tries to hope in America.  A cedar Poetry Box called The Fox Poetry Box is mounted on a post in her front yard.