Maria Pilar Conn

Maria Pilar Conn Poems

There they sit, covered in black mud,
small, chubby, old Mediterranean people.
Sitting with their chairs in the shore,
the sea coming in and wetting their legs.
...

When I was a kid I used to run through the corn
having been taught to hide.
I would sit quietly; no one knew where I was.
Once I lay down and fell asleep hearing the song of corn leaves
...

You stood in the circle of light
Cast by the fire
Cast like iron
Cast by flame
...

It was a sea of olive trees that place in which you left me
sweat pooling under my breasts.
The bread was hot, dripping dark olive oil over my nails as
I drank the wine of communion. My sins accompany me still.
...

My mother never fit in.She was a foreigner that stayed a foreigner.
Always looking out of place between the corn and the hogs.
Dad was a mechanic that belonged.
He plucked a foreign flower, in a foreign land,
...

Must I ask permission for wandering afar?
Away into the mountains where there is only green.
To lie upon a small blanket, like the child who sees
but understands not what lies before me.
...

I keep weeding the garden; no blood flows from me.

My husband's stomach looks like Buda's.I have his smile.
...

Papa me llevaba a la feria de tractores, los dos solos.
El día lo recuerdo lleno de ilusiones.
Me sube a un tractor grande, amarillo.
Sonríe, me dice, mientras me toma una foto.
...

En invierno, saco el camisón que dejó
una triste tarde antes de su adiós.
Esta raído, podría coserlo.
Descolorido su rosa palo, las flores desechas,
...

Maria Pilar Conn Biography

Born in Indianapolis, raised between Spain and California. At the age of 18, she moves to Spain to live in Cabo de Palos, Murcia. Studied Interior Design at Escuela de Artes y Oficios de Murcia but leaves her studies disenchanted with them. Has one daughter and several admin jobs that bore her to death but pay the bills. Opens a bakery, Cardinal American Bakery, specializing in sculptural cakes. Publishes a bakery book on cakes in 2016. Writes poetry for many years but does not publish till she is in her 50´s. Does illustration on the side for greeting, birthday, etc.. cards and several publications anonymously. Publishes her first poetry book in Spanish in 2019 plus several novels between 2019 and 2020. Semi-retired she enjoys a quiet life with her partner in the sleepy fishing village where she resides.)

The Best Poem Of Maria Pilar Conn

Black Mud Of The Small Sea

There they sit, covered in black mud,
small, chubby, old Mediterranean people.
Sitting with their chairs in the shore,
the sea coming in and wetting their legs.
The women sit in groups,
some have the black mud on their faces,
laughing about what women laugh about when together.
The little men also sit together,
every once in a while,
they look over at the women and shout.
The women crack up laughing,
the black mud splitting along their faces.
Other groups stand around the mud pit.
They are looking at an old man bent over,
digging mud out and placing it in a bucket.
He is talking all the time, gesticulating,
with his free hand.
No one seems to be listening to what he says.
The sun burns my white skin.
A withered old woman with only two teeth,
that I can see,
grabs me by the arm with claws instead of hands,
pushing me into the circle of women by the pit.
They all start talking at once,
slapping on me black stinking mud,
because it does smell,
like a sea gone dead,
over my back, arms and legs.
I feel dizzy hearing their loud chatter,
pushing my body this way and that.
Finally they are done,
they laugh at my bewilderment,
as they cast me out adrift,
free of the womb a second time,
and just as lost.

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