When I Said Goodbye

Poems by Didi Menendez with an Introduction by Jack Anders

BlazeVOX [books]
Buffalo, New York

When I said Goodbye by Dulce Maria (Didi) Menendez Copyright 2008 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Book design by Geoffrey Gatza Cover art Jeff Filipski First Edition ISBN: 1-934289-86-8 ISBN 13: 978-1-934289-86-0 Library of Congress Control Number : 2008920521

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The Smell Of The Sun Spooning A Cloud

A deja vu je ne se qua, the smell of the rain as it bursts through the ventanas. No it is not that at all but the smell of you after a shower No! It is the way you walked into our bedroom. The way you stood by the door drying yourself legs apart drops still clinging onto some part of you The smell of your glance at the mirror Your glance at me sometimes vice a versa The steam on a jealous mirror as our room became your smell. Yet it is not that at all. It is the smell the smell of the sun spooning a cloud. Yes that is it yet I wish to describe it as just baked bread But it was more like the smell of money

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Yes the sun about to spoon a cloud and the smell of money as you came into our room frontal view How I inhaled to taste the smell as the sun spooned a cloud and our noise became like the rain as it burst through the ventana.

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A Flan Is A Man About To Come

Don't ever serve a flan for any other purpose. An easy lay, one can of evaporated milk, another of sweetened, make sure it is condensed, three medium sized eggs, and although the original recipe requires vanilla, I only use pure almond extract. Make sure to find a loaf pan that looks used. Place a cup of sugar let it become caramelo. Blend your ingredients, pour it into the loaf pan, place the pan al bao maria. And at 350 degree, cook until done. Do not flip it on a nice plate until you are ready to eat so he can see that you cooked it yourself. If you ever go to the Bahamas, bring back some habanas let the tips of his fingers into your humidador. When he selects his poison, serve him anis del mono to help him wash it down.
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The Night Before The Divorce

She gave him a tit fuck. An ass fuck. A mouth fuck. A fuck above, below, sideways, gripping the bed posts, nails screeching sheets, every ways, perspiring. How he was hard, so hard so very very hard and in his face, in his face you could see his pleasure and surprise. Surprise that she was giving him everything. When she had told him before No. No that it would hurt. No that she would not enjoy doing it that way. No that she was having her period. No that she was still sore from the c-section. No that she was up all night with the baby. No that she wanted him to look at her the same as before. It was okay to say No. When he loves you it is okay to say No. She finally let him have it his way. Ways he never asked for. Ways he did not expect from her. And as she gave him everything, in all the ways possible, she yelled out, more, more and he shoved it deeper.

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And her hair was long and it was wet from his breath next to hers, heavy heavy. And she said yes yes yes yes, her head went sideways as if she were really saying no, no, no. For all the perspiring, screeching, inside, outside, sideways, up, down, in the mouth, up the ass, between her breasts, how all of it was just the pain of finally letting go.

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A Poem Startin g With A First Line by Dylan Thomas

I know this vicious minute's hour. Dunkin Donuts is just around the corner. There is one slice of stale bread left. It has grown one moldy eye. The eye tempts me. It is now winking at my grand canyon thighs. The black dog licks up the last morsel from her bowl. The turtles stick their little heads from their green onion shells. I could boil some water. There is ginger tea but no honey. There is marmalade but no crackers. I contemplate a new drink, ginger tea with a dollop of mango jelly. It could be the new sensation at Starbucks. I could become the new Mrs. Fields handing out free mango ginger tea at the mall. The mall, now there is a thought. I could go for a walk at the mall. I could put on my baggy sweat pants. Walk a few laps, pass the Payless Shoes and opt for a pretzel with cream cheese. Oh that moldy eye is starting to grow an eyebrow! That last slice of bread is resembling my ex! He has come back to haunt me! I take the kitchen knife and stab that eyeball. Take that! And that! The dog starts to worry and leaves to the next room. The turtle sticks her little head back into her green onion shell. Oh this vicious minute's hour. This haunted malicious vicious hour. These bread crumbs all over my clean kitchen counter!!! I place clean dishes into the dishwasher just so I can hear a hum. I head over to Baskin Robbins to end this 31 line poem.

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Little Deaths
I get my blessings from the toll plaza attendant. In his Jamaican accent, he takes my quarter and wishes me a blessed evening. Sometimes I smile back. Sometimes I dont. At Christmas he handed me a poem along with my change. I want to know when you dream of dogs, are they chasing you or licking your wounds? The night you dreamt of dogs, a wolf killed a possum in my yard In the morning the kill was waiting for me by my kitchen door. My son once made a negative remark about gay men. I corrected him and told him love is hard to find and when you find it, embrace it. What do you teach your children? I get I get I get I get I get my music from the radio. my birds flying through my window. my poems as a Toyota cuts in front of me. my little deaths riding down the Turnpike. my love thrown in front of the backdoor.

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The Day After The Plane Went Down

I was licking a senorita out of all her cream at the Cuban bakery somewhere off the strip in Glendale California I was licking a senorita chasing her down with an espresso John Jr. was turning green somewhere off the coast of Martha's Vineyard The Sunday after the plane went down I was licking a senorita and Daryl Hannah was watching the news I was crunching the phyllo and chasing her down with an espresso I wore a powdered sugar mustache and laughed then cried while I finished licking off a senorita It was a July afternoon I had just turned 39 and John Jr. was turning green

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Jose And Me On The Bus

I asked Walt Whitman for a poem. But he was busy being dead So I let him rest and moved on to the next guy. He was sitting next to me on the bus. I asked him for a new poem. He stared at me. I thought perhaps he was mute. I wanted to switch to Spanish As I have done so many times before I moved here from Miami. But I was not in Miami. I wanted to say out loud so all would hear, "Do you know who I am?" But I was afraid they would say no. I pretended to be speaking to myself and started reciting a poem by Jose Marti. I proceeded to speak in my tongue. Cultivo una rosa blanca.. The bus was hoping I would not start foaming at the mouth. The bus driver looked at me from his rear view mirror. I continued...para el amigo sincero... He let me out at the next stop. It was a block from my house. I walked alone for Jose had stayed on the bus.

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I passed my neighbor. He was mowing his lawn. I passed his pond. I passed his garden of flowers where there was not a single white rose.

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