Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire Quotes

“The pelicans paddle
in coils of waves and light. Low tide
reveals fissures of saltwater and rock.
From the smallest crevices
color insists-colonies of jade
anemones, a purple starfish harvest, barnacles
hiding beaks of unbleached linen, black mussel
bouquets. Between the air and sea,
-this, one large prayer.
I kneel.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“The discipline of joy is about survival.
You make your own joy-
this is the work my mother taught me.
Little factory, little mine of reminders-
find, make, joy to sustain multiple life-
times: the blanket made beautiful
from patterned found scraps;
the broth of tap water and ginger and bones.
What fullness my mother earned
and could stuff inside an envelope
to send each month back home.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“There's a saying: those who do not swim
deep in the waters from which they came
cannot arrive in the oceans they hope to go.
My parents began an ocean away
and arrived in a land of lakes and snow.
I've been back to their waters (is it mine, too?)
but, wasn't a good swimmer.
Everyone spoke underwater; I could only
hold my breath to listen for so long.
I did learn the water carries its own song.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“The stars above us ask so little,
despite our cells,
coursing with their dust. To err is constant-
someday, all the things we believe will seem ancient.
Perhaps, we'll live more times than once.
Eventually, we will all flee toward the coastline.
The world we ignore most and understand least
will call us back to give up our toenails for tails,
cover our breasts with starfish and numinous scales.
Tell me, how will a cellist sound beneath the sea?”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“How grief
pummels us sharp,
breaks upon us to shape
the faces we give the world,
the languages we speak in secret.
Here, far above the water line
pines congregate and meet the ocean.
Landscape climaxes against the crash of water.
The white walls strike
this fawn height.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“The tide moves me
higher on the crags. My joints crunch
like the mussels
and barnacles beneath my boots.
I walk a tightrope,
from here to another ocean
huddled with archipelagos
where ancestral canoes
set to paddle across the world.
I teeter and my hands catch
the water rising cold.
The sea we come from is much warmer.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“These rocks
are the church
where I knelt
in black worsted silk
beside my mother.
Her shoulders sharp
beneath my embrace.
My mother: a solid wailing.

These rocks are the soil
where she kneels
before the whorls of roses,
kneeing before that box
as if it were my father's grave.

The closed anemones
offer their sticky blossoms
as the tide washes toward me.

Small bits of the coast
meet my skin,
scraping my iron onto my knees.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“Our dead are lost, aren't they?
There is always some mistake:
lost down a well, lost in the woods.
Lost for words, lost to the world,
we'll never make up for lost time.
The sheep, the baby, the prodigal son,
wandering beyond our imaginings,
along the border of our grief and need.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“Lola long dead, I still enter her old room
and find her rosary made from pressed rose petals.
I cradle it in my palms, perfuming
my hands with her prayers.
I don't pray. I just wonder
at the fragrance a brown bead can hold,
how many petals, how many roses,
to make just one bead.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“when you sleep
and I can't
I trace the lines of your face
with my eyes
wondering about the ways
you might one day
break my heart”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“I can believe almost anything-
that we began
as thoughts an ocean away carried as seeds or smog or trash
across the water
by capital by will by God
or
we began
as crumbs ferried in the beaks of
waxwings birds of paradise
we began
as birds ourselves-
migration
instinct.
Pins pierce dots and blocks of color
to yoke memory to cartography:
we've scattered across the world.
Tiny planets
mark crumbs
entire lives spun
along axes imperceptible
to souls never moved by the wind.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire

“This morning I woke dreaming of a man
I'd not undressed in fifteen years.
We may as well have written letters with goose quills.
Th mind's meddling, curious - why him, why now?
Still, it's fun to throw spaghetti against the wall.
See what falls, what sticks. Isn't this a game
we're always losing? The root of diminution.”
― Michelle Peñaloza, Former Possessions of the Spanish Empire