Poetry: Eyes, If These Walls Could Talk, and Salt Seas by Ainne Frances dela Cruz


An O-ness in the mouth of God

Aqueduct, viaduct

Tuberoses, blossoming white

In this wide, vast, black

A lifted drawbridge

An overpass.


If These Walls Could Talk

There’s a cat that lives
in my house.
I don’t see it
I only hear
the meows and yelps
that mark its catness.

So much louder,
so imaginatively egotistical
when it sees a mouse.

I search for its cat-eyes,
its cat-paws
its nine lives.

Wanting a taste of fang and claw
of whiskered fur,
sheathed velvet.

Too fast, our times never meet
I am stuck to a wall.
The cat lives
in a maze

forever going in and out
in and out
of my life.

And I a 10-inch nail,
a hair in its path,
will go on loving
behind cracks
from screen to screen
hole to hole

until it looks
and ravishes me.


Salt Seas 

My Grandpa died when water

was the color of drowning

We could not drink

The water tasted salty

Like the sea that embalmed his body.


How exactly do we endure?

Death passes like rain over water.

Nothing to nothing, the hold

Of it pours, into us, above us

All water, all salt, all sea,


Drowning us, clear as salt-

Serrated surfaces of the sea,

We realize how colorless we

Have become. All colors

Drowned in our drowning.


Only grandpa could save us.

No one else knew how to swim

But he died before we could

Get a grip on him.

Ainne Frances dela Cruz
Ainne Frances dela Cruz 

Before landing a gig in Gulf Insider MagazineAinne Frances dela Cruz has been a gallery assistant, a university professor, and a language editor. She is a graduate of St. Scholastica’s College, Manila with a Bachelor’s degree in English. She is the author of Tumbleweed, a chapbook published by Tiny Press. Her works have appeared widely in print and online in publications like Strangeroad.com, Zone, Blood Orange Review, and the Poetry Super Highway among others. She is the founder and editor of Paper Monster Press.