Poetry by Tricia Marcella Cimera

​wrist
 
sometimes — I remember my father
by touching my wrist, feeling the
sliver bones under my fingers, the
beating pulse.  my father wore a
heavy gold watch on his wrist, the
hair on his arms was blonde.
his hands were very warm.  once --
he lived too.
 



The Selfish Poem
 
In eternity,
my mother will pick dandelions
to set on the table
in an empty honey jar
and she will think of me.
She will always cut her sandwich
diagonally
the way she did for me.
She will sleep in a large, white
bed and wake every night,
with a start,
because she thinks
she hears me call.
In eternity,
I wish my mother no pain, no worry,
no grief,
only constant happy thoughts –
            of me.
I know it’s selfish.
I know it’s childish.
But after my mother is gone,
I will go to every desolate beach
and throw a bottle
into the deep forever sea.
I will go to every hillside
and release one red balloon
into the sky.
I will go to every temple
in this world
and leave a small carved box.
All these things will hold
the same handwritten note
that will be folded
as neatly as any that
my mother always hid inside
my blue lunch box.
The note will say
           wherever you are
           don’t forget me

​

Bio: Tricia Marcella Cimera is a Midwestern poet with a worldview. Look for her work in these diverse places (some forthcoming): Buddhist Poetry Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Foliate Oak, Failed Haiku, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Mad Swirl, Silver Birch Press, Yellow Chair Review, Wild Plum and elsewhere.  She has a micro collection of water-themed poems called THE SEA AND A RIVERon the Origami Poems Project website.  Tricia believes there’s no place like her own backyard and has traveled the world (including Graceland).  She lives with her husband and family of animals in Illinois / in a town called St. Charles / by a river named Fox.

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