Tag Archives: Aileen Santos



Aileen Santos


The ring that’s not yours
that belongs on his finger
no longer looks shiny
just dull and encumbered.

Melted snow in early spring
sudden and surprising
you’re black ice
slippery slopes
red light flashing.

Addictive, obsessive
Flushed smears of lipstick
tangled sheets stained
in a knot of deceit.

Your cologne plays on my skin
like a fedora on a phat cat
Buddhist prayer beads on a mantra
or a song I like to scream.


Burach and wife - Version 2Grandmother

Aileen Santos


I remember talcum powder and tiger balm
the raised mole on her left hand.

I remember wrinkles
and long withered fingers
a soothsayer
secret keeper
comforting dissonance.

I remember my face
in her soap scented hair
pinched purple skin
when she was not there

dystopian fragments
of hard silver buckles

the balm on my bruises
the kiss on my temple.