Without Sails

Years have passed, yet I cling to
an unrequited impossibility.
Encased in a moment is my mind:
a time capsule only I cherish.
My life, a collection of days, enthralled in
a fantastical myth of my imagination.

Inscription in a scroll with ink and quill
on parchment paper sits my soul.
Sealed with a wax stamp,
slipped into a glass, and
sent ashore to wade in water
come what tide or current brings.

My existence suffocated
with each sunset and season
that passes by.
The rise and fall of tides,
the currents high and low,
undulate in oceans deep.

Futile this journey is
for washed ashore will never be
the exhilaration of you finding me.


© 2017 Cyndi Piña, All Rights Reserved.

Chasing Phantoms

I wear my sadness like a dress
string that ties at the back of my neck
one that cups the form of my breasts
embraces the curves of my hips
glides down the small of my back.

It is a little red number
this sadness that I slip into
when I am in the mood.
It is a mourning of moments,
and it is just the two of us now.

I play the songs that solidify
my pangs of self-loathing and want.
Alone. I rock from side-to-side
matching the movement of my sway
to the movement of the song.

I wear this dress well
this feeling of anger, sadness, and pain.
I can feel it tugging on my belly.
It runs along the sides of my waist

pulls me in closer and tighter
like a deep embrace.
Sliding my fingers along the hemline
hands interlocking tangling
themselves within fabric
losing sight of time and place.

I place a hand along the string
tied at the nape of my neck
and wonder if it is time to let go
before the evening is gone.

© 2017 Cyndi Piña, All Rights Reserved.