I contain a certain silence that bends with time 

I tell myself 

this is the best option 

the only option 
the world disintegrating like a crumble cake 

and my coffee on the table 

ready to soak it in 

have I given up? 

that can’t be 

there is more than gin pools

and drowning in fountains 

made of right now…

because not now 

not this second 

not this thing


I  feign a laugh 

and a whim 

of something 

something distant 


and within. 

– sheila c.


what is it about tectonics? 

I’m aware of the shift 

in continental plates 

below me 

the hard ground 

is somehow evaporating 

while growing 

it doesn’t cease 

to bore me. 

I am rock 

slowly eroding 

 cliff side 


core and crumble 


I am contained by valley 

as a split 

a dual terrain

beginning in mist 

so moist the air 

is drip 



a deft step 

or two 


rounded peaks


all the voice 

inside the valley 


and pours into the 


a bloom 

is being bore 

before me 

– s.c. 

corner store

corner store lights 

like pulsing life blood 

in the field 

one car 

and one 

good morning

that shutters the curtain

yeah, yesterday is definitely over 

but you defiantly swivel 

towards your beacon 

hoping your fever goes down 

and that little bite 

under your eyelids 

that says

stay open 

stays open 

standing here 

for a moment 

that’s not the sun

a headlight maybe 

there’s not much difference 

propel your body forward 

with the notion 

of saying grace 

prolonging the exhale 

draining the fragile joy

that gives you claws 

in beige corridors 

and beige walls 

with beige persons

you manage a polite mumble 

and crack the glass 


you’re open 

stay open 

let the brightness 

be your golden. 

– sheila c

a warmer spring

there is no warmth

like a spring you remember


i was standing agape

while you hummed a song

and smiled at your neighbors

from the courtyard

and even though you were high

and probably still drunk

my tongue knotted up

and i couldn’t tell you


i am swallowing my thoughts of you

shoving them into the acid

hoping the bile erases you


i wonder if i will ever see you again

– sheila c.

some time ago in my studio

there were nights  
I would wake up with water
pooled in my ducts. 

I would look to my side, 
gather the strength to roll over 
and crush the company that wasn’t there. 

I was beyond what we know as lonely. 

with terminally wounded feminity, 
singed in healing fire, 
I was not quite ready to be reborn. 

I often wash myself with these memories 
and absorb them into my skin.  

I often breathe into her and thank her for letting me begin. 

– sheila c


i held my hands in a soft grip 
around a concrete pole at 24:00 

all the words escaped 
my mouth 

life is not an open chasm 

and I would love 


to say 
your name in dark 

it was you
after all and 
like time 
and sours 


i could live here
and try to catch water
in my hands

i could live here
and try 

– sheila cordova