Gloria Mindock is the author of La Porţile Raiului (Ars Longa Press, 2010, Romania) translated into the Romanian by Flavia Cosma, Nothing Divine Here (U Soku Stampa, 2010, Montenegro), and Blood Soaked Dresses (Ibbetson Street Press, 2007).
She is editor of Červená Barva Press, Istanbul Literary Review, and co-editor of X-Peri. She has had numerous publications including Poet Lore, River Styx, Phoebe, Blackbox, Poesia, Bogg, Ibbetson, WHLR, UNU: Revista de Cultura, Citadela, Aurora, Arabesques, and two chapbooks, Doppelganger (S. Press) and Oh Angel (U Šoku Štampa). From 1984-1994, Gloria was editor of the Boston Literary Review/BLuR.
Gloria Mindock has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, St. Botolph Award, and was awarded a fellowship from the Massachusetts Cultural Council distributed by the Somerville Arts Council. Gloria currently works as a Social Worker and freelances teaching poetry workshops and editing manuscripts.
I have been investigating the hearts of the mournful.
Such dreams that it seems like storytelling.
Waves and waves of conversations floating back and forth
being pecked off one at a time by the sea birds.
I watch them circle and circle, bite with such energy, I can
hear violins in the background. Music of the Mediterranean.
The sand is pale. It needs some blood to wash up on
its shore. The air smells. What was suppose to be seashells, was only bones.
The light in the sky—
only death waiting in silence for the next victim.
Sometimes, there is magic in love, but when it comes to
the heart, it is dark, and deep in the mud. No cleaning it off will
bring any comfort. No romance, kisses, or anything
so it is best to forget.
People don’t take time to weep for hearts.
Bodies just blend in with all the others.
A doormat walked on daily.
We all know to wipe our shoes.
The coast leaves me shivering
so much that I almost feel drunk.
Questions about my life.
Gazing into the blue-green of the sea
I know why I am here.
All sad answers.
Here my soul is lazy and there are only eternal gains.
This is home to dreams, decisions.
When I take the water into my hands, it drifts between
my fingers slowly. Smooth water, with drops
flowing from my finger tips.
It knocks me out with beads of lightness.
There is something about this sea…
a secret, that is hidden,
that no other body of water has.
It could be sexual, a rebirth, or my eyes
playing tricks on me.
The waves hit me hard—
wakes me up.
This is so I don’t forget my memories, my tears.
I walk into the water and it embraces me with such delicacy.
I am the supervisor of the waves—watching… waiting
for a change. The white caps sparkle, show beauty, and the
violence of the water.
Sometimes my thoughts drift listening to the sound of
the waves hitting against the rocks.
The noise of the seagulls, and feeling the sun on my face, is meditative.
A quiet horizon has a different view of this seeing me,
wondering how I can sit for hours.
Colorful dragon flies approach me, then fly away,
approach me again and this continues. Their teasing
is like a lovers chase.
Back and forth like the waves… it’s the ultimate tease.
When I leave, a picture is in my memory of a beautiful day
which coated me with sand, hard to remove.
I rinse off the sand which occupies my skin.
Secretly, I tell the sand I’m sorry for taking it away
from its home and wash it down the drain.
A moment later, emerging with skin clean and awaken,
the proof is here in my house.
I saw God today but didn’t realize it until now.
All poems on this post: © Gloria Mindock
Published with the permission of Gloria Mindock