Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 33
Table of

Listen to the Codex

Did she ever use that word? You couldn’t hear the – and her sister. Her brother died – answer, or the word, but the tone was forceful. And her sister. The Mayan god kept a record. How did he decide the code? Each family’s land and crops. Was it her sister who jumped off the highway 15 and 10 crossover bridge? In Ontario at rush hour? The freeway blended from cinnamon clouds to an icy wing. She could fly to the grid. By marking an X inside each rectangle. Dashes next to the rectangle indicated adult family members. The air felt like piercing rain. Was it because her brother died? Is there a word for these emotions? Dots showed the children. Ice held her close. Have you used it? Sirens and helicopters non-stop. Propellers over your studio sounded like they would come into the vibrating room. Too cloudy and humid for a fire. With his shield and arrows he protected the land of maize. The roadway paper. Until the foreigners came in rough deception and tore his people. You couldn’t hear the answer. He kept a record. Life ended before the fates cut the thread. The rare blue pigment he used on the last page of the codex hidden in a cave survived. A forceful tone.

Cindy Rinne __
       Pink Claws and Red Thread
       After “Strength” by Sabro Foster

   Your hands grasped rusted
   Bars inside the belly
   Of a crow

   Stolen or halted
   Buried in thirst

   Faceless inner
   Prison    Locked up
   You had felt safe

   Now tried to escape
   And fixated
   On the confusion of crow –

   Shape shifter pink claws
   And red thread
   In beak

   Controlled the golden
   Key    You don’t
   Know if it’s the right one

        Cindy Rinne__


Atonement The red Madonna   washed
Her journal and retrieved   the   page
About her grandfather's death.   
Ink bled. Clouds formed towers 
Over    the columns on grandfather's grave. 

Now his remains settled and    made
Light for this    cemetery. Sorry, I've been 
busy the last    couple of days, she said. 
Placed roses    carnations across    
His gravestone.

The red Madonna met up with the self-healing 
Robot. His cells   sparked   like city lights 
On cement sun    mist   edge. 
The robot had numbers    to atone    for a name. 
He stored digital artifacts    and held   

Her family secrets    inside his copper   cage.
The red Madonna    struck
A triangle. Chink.    Bang.   Ting. 
Metallic    vibrations healed  the robot's   
Weak   heart. A red light beamed on his    

Welded hand   warning her not    to touch 
The Jeffrey Pine her grandfather used 
To climb. Scrape.   Swish.    Shush. He never   
Broke    his bones. Did not need    a rod 
In his arm of bruised and yellowstained   skin.

        Cindy Rinne__