Maria Pilar Conn Biography

There they sit, covered in black mud,
small, chubby, old Mediterranean people.
Sitting with their chairs in the shore,
the sea coming in and wetting their legs.
...

When I was a kid I used to run through the corn
having been taught to hide.
I would sit quietly; no one knew where I was.
Once I lay down and fell asleep hearing the song of corn leaves
...

You stood in the circle of light
Cast by the fire
Cast like iron
Cast by flame
...

It was a sea of olive trees that place in which you left me
sweat pooling under my breasts.
The bread was hot, dripping dark olive oil over my nails as
I drank the wine of communion. My sins accompany me still.
...

My mother never fit in.She was a foreigner that stayed a foreigner.
Always looking out of place between the corn and the hogs.
Dad was a mechanic that belonged.
He plucked a foreign flower, in a foreign land,
...