Justine Camacho Tajonera Poems

I think of the whiteness of snow
on a postcard from an immigrant aunt.
How sweet, how pure
and unreal like props
...

How far are these 'higher things'
from what I feel for you?
The earthly, humble touch
of your hand,
...

The man I asked for directions did not know how
to explain it to me
but he smiled, took my hand
and showed me the way.
...

It is impossible to fall in love again
for the first time.
The first blush, the heart quickening,
racing madly with a secret:
...

The pond is
quiet
except for
the birds.
...

I experience
the leaf,
the deadness
of it,
...

There are few luxuries
in life
as precious
as afternoon naps.
...

Twelve and a half
years later
she packs away
books, certificates,
...

My mother left bangles
in her jewelry box,
poems that my father
can no longer find,
...

The evening is soft
with revelations,
with ears open
to all manner of
...