Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Yummy Poems of Ana C.

Today I want to feature a gal I know, a really talented poet and a too-cool-for-school kind of girl. Her name is Ana C. (The “C” stands for Carrete, but let’s keep that hush because otherwise her father might find her web site, and if he does she is going to have a lot of explaining to do).

I know her just because, it’s not that we grew up together or somehow we have lived spectacular adventures. She goes to some parties, I got some parties*, the meeting was casual… only it was not so casual because both of us had read each other’s blog before the official meeting and, for me, it was more like an amazing groupie moment (I got to meet that cool chick from the web! And she kind of knew about me!).

Now that I have seen her around in various events I can (if I have a few drinks) chat with her and be cool about it, but I have to watch myself, too many drinks and I end up telling her the usual “I adore your words, all you do, be my friend, hold my hand” nonsense (I turn into a total dork)...

So anyway, as I sort of hinted, she has this blog called I do not have penis envy and in it she usually posts rather revealing and fun poetry; some is naughty and sexual while other things turn out rather strong but sweet. She has a really unconventional point of view and such a natural flow of words, normally I could just hate her forever (envy, envy, envy), but I don’t, because actually she is an immensely nice, creative and rather hard to dislike person.

She is slowly turning into some pop web cult phenomenon (yes, I am nerd, I don’t know how to describe cool things) and I am really happy for her, I think her amazing brain deserves as many followers as it can get, because she writes with real honesty and ease about lots of hard topics and she is always mixing a little Mexican flare and culture to her work (love that, represent!).

I picked 3 of her poems, have a read and I do hope you like her.


panicky little bitch
rubbing your grandma's stomach
will always make you cry
try it if you don't believe me

you'll never stop feeling afraid
everyone dies when they stop

i'm alone when you stop me

when you write something
and title it panicky little bitch
your heart beats faster

i tried to run away from home once
i was going to run away with a piece of fabric
attached to a stick because
that's how it works when you're seven


two babies holding hands in a third world country
two boys holding hands sucking the same lollipop
two girls holding hands staring at each other
two grandpas holding hands masturbating
two grandmas holding hands peeing in public
two teenagers holding hands eating a cheeseburger
two toddlers holding hands being cute
two mothers holding hands smoking a cigarette
two sisters holding hands licking their shoulders
two brothers holding hands walking home from school
two cousins holding hands feeling insecure about their sexuality
two classmates holding hands wanting to hold someone else's hand
two sluts holding hands flirting with the same boy at the same time
two transvestites holding hands looking manly
two hipsters holding hands winking at boys with ironic mustaches
two emo boys holding hands wearing i'm with stupid t-shirts
two prostitutes holding hands looking hip with wayfarers
two hippies holding hands looking hip with leather vests
two dudes holding hands hating each other
two bros holding hands acting like assholes
two chicks holding hands not giving a shit
two cry babies holding hands wanting to cut their wrists
two gangsters holding hands experiencing sexual harassment
two soldiers holding hands thinking anorexia is awesome
two racists holding hands feeling like pigs
two waiters holding hands wishing they could buy expensive makeup
two babies holding hands in a third world country
two fathers holding hands being unemployed


grandma is downstairs eating salmon
grandma is downstairs eating salmon. her eyes are blue but used to be dark. she says things like
"this food is delicious. are we in a garden? i like these huge trees" but we're inside the house and

my mom tells her there's some plants outside and she just says "oh"

our plates are full. there's salmon and salad and rice with almonds and other vegetables are on the side.
i grab a piece of baguette and spread butter on it. i chew and feel like crying. everything is delicious and i think

"this isn't a beautiful garden
grandma" only i never call her
i call her by her first name (elia)
in its diminutive form (eliquita)

i stretch and she asks if i'm tired. i tell her i am and she just stares
out the window.

i go up the stairs
into my room
i lock it.

carmen helps her eat. she asks what she's giving her next. carmen asks
"well do you want rice or salmon or salad?" grandma says salmon. carmen gives it to her.

she asks me the same thing 3 times in a row. i feel unkind
the third time i say things. i wish i could only say sweet things
three times in a row and i wish she could hear me say these things
three times in a row and i wish the third time sounded sweeter than the first time.


For more of her scrumptious poems go to her Web Site (here); there you can buy her chapbook called make-believe love-making (I have it, and it’s great!).

* Yes, I am sure she goes to much more parties that I do, but I was trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing.

No comments:

Post a Comment