Love, Your Artsy Girl

"Fissures" acrylic on canvas by Cristina Querrer Within the fissures--words Caught in between the slats Like meat in between teeth Keep grinding the bone Till there is no more Furthermore no fossilized Imprints of someone's death grip To remind us of the turbulence Somewhere in the cracks Someone said "I love you" Someone else said "We're better off apart" There's the cave drawing of us Primal, minimal that just Points out the obvious "It is what you make it" Yet I try to save you From yourself and you Insist it is me who is drowning Chip away at my chivalry But you know I am right all along Another chance may come But hurry, the paint is peeling Take my hand, I'll pull you up I'm prophetic, you know Ghosts from these walls Tell me things--they say You will perish here or there But don't thank me for Bringing you to this room Because you decide...

"My Archipelago" mixed media series by Cristina Querrer As if it's not enough to watch the island go under or watch myself float away. It's still there like some ancient ruin left by a mighty chief. I know what it may feel like to go back to a time. People don't look or act the same: just some scattered tribe speaking an old language, broken and poor by today's standard. It's not enough to watch myself go under hopping from isle to isle in search of the sailor, some ancient mariner who always had a heart of a stray animal ready to roll out his loot to impress the King as he raped & plundered the rest for his safekeeping. This is the same history of every remote paradise. The people are left wanting, waiting for the next ship & at the same time waiting for the white man to leave their island forever.

"Pohnpei Harbor" photo by Cristina Querrer I will come back to you without men who seek your women & waters. I will not come back to teach but to talk & sing with you by your rivers & waterfalls, take each climbing curve on your mountainside as meditation. I will come back on my own terms to know the real you — not as scientist, anthropologist, exploiting ex-pat, parish priest, or trans-continental company you're used to, but as mother & artist with Pohnpei poems I left behind.