​Alaina M. Perez
Secondary Education Professional
Amateur Rambler
Normal Now
By Alaina Perez
August 2014
I dreamt of my mother last night.
I killed time before meeting her by browsing DVDS at a Blockbuster.
I left and got in her car to go to church, but
We turned around halfway because I'm an atheist now.
We went shopping and talked about things
that didn't matter.
Like we were already tired of seeing each other.
In Transit
By Alaina Perez
June 2014
I stand facing the house that I grew up in.
Its two front windows look like eyes and the door, A mouth open and wailing soundlessly.
It wretches as it decomposes, in fast-forward.
Shingles fly away and the wood becomes dark
With age and neglect.
The house is dying, and it's all
My fault.
I sit facing my mother on a bus heading nowhere.
I try to ignore her, but she won't let me.
She is young like me for a moment.
Then her hair turns gray, lighter still.
She rips it out and hurls white clumps at me.
They fall at my feet like cotton.
Her face caves in, and she ages in seconds.
She screams at me that I did this.
She is dying, quickly. And it's all
My fault.
Hopelessly Devoted
By Alaina Perez
Octover 2012
I heard the song you
loved the most.
I remembered how
you danced to it
in place.
Flipping your wrists and stepping
on toes with a smile
I don't ever see
now.
Homework
By Alaina Perez
October 2011
We are a species afflicted.
Diseased with melancholera,
We race to the nearest shopping mall
For a quick fix and a neon high.
It's Vegas in your hand,
It's sex and wealth and access,
It's watching the world get undressed
And for a second, you feel it all.
A second,
And it's gone.
Back to the shroud of numb.