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Judith Terzi has published two collections of poetry, Shiny Things Make Things Come Back in 2002, and Lightning Bugs Don't Travel Westward in 2004, and a CD, Wings of the Andes. She has also published poems in print as well as in on-line publications including the anthology, An Eye for an Eye Makes the Whole World Blind: Poets on 9/11 (2002), The Teacher's Voice (2005), The San Gabriel Valley Quarterly, Moondance, and Počtes Contre la Guerre. Judith teaches French language and literature in Pasadena and taught writing for ten years at Cal State L.A. She writes in Spanish and French as well as in English and is currently working on a creative non-fiction story about her experience with a parent's five year battle with dementia.


I saw your hair 
in a trash can somewhere 
in town 
strewn over a Cactus Cooler 
still damp from midnight rain 
luminous in morning sun 
curls still intact. 

When I was seven 
a barber snipped off both my fine braids 
ribbons too. 
I cried for him to stop; 
mother commanded, "Go on!" 
weary from the tangles. 
She shoved two thick braids into her shiny 
red handbag. 
They're still in the blue hatbox labeled odds 
and ends 
along with report cards 
and baby teeth 

I grabbed a handful of curl; 
it glided through my fingertips. 
Even after the rain, fragrance lingered. 
I swallowed the curl, 
washed it down with Cactus Cooler, 
rushed home to hide the scissors. 



I sit with you on turquoise afternoons 
in limpid winter, 
host to Sunday solitude. 
My feet skim your tan speckled tiles, 
eyes transfixed between two iron rails: 
vast rectangular picture frame, 
through which to view blue, 
translucent projection 
of sea 
beyond moorish port 
you and camus memorized long before 
my arrival, 
Languid, cobalt blue clad men unload 
even after the Revolution. 


Andean Pantoum

There are the Incan emerald tombs
Hovering over mesas green.
The Andes float in clouds serene;
Crops fertile in her valley's wombs.

Hovering over mesas green,
The sierra shines like winter moons.
Crops fertile in her valley's wombs;
Her craters fill as waters preen.

The sierra shines like winter moons.
Wayfarers naked lie pristine.
Her craters fill as waters preen.
Lava cradles lull the lagoons.

Wayfarers naked lie pristine;
Luminous winds erode their wounds.
Lava cradles lull the lagoons.
Evening drifts by spirit's gleam.'spoetry.html








© 2006 Judith Terzi

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