Ursula Cheng + Natalia Herrero

The Listener

Saturday, February 28th, 2009



Tree hugger.


Looking out on a vast pasture

shouting beside a big lonely tree.


The soft breeze,

mint-like chills on my face,

laying in the grass with closed eyes,

breathing life in.


I can smell the mist,

the fog inside my head,

my watery body,

my lungs long to be free.


I remain calm,

enjoying every second

where the subtlest sounds

drown my inner turbulence.


I am the listener.


Camouflaged by the landscape,

I am the soil, the wet earth,

the grass, the tree’s leaves.


The wind is my voice.


If you listen,

you will hear my call.

Blowback Dreaming

Thursday, January 15th, 2009


Mom had been thinking about it

for quite some time.

If she were to leave,

what would the leaves say about that?


Those green eavesdroppers,

always creeping into everything.


A harbour for bugging peeping toms –


black spies there,

sitting, waiting,

meddling –

hidden in plain sight.


Blinding neighbours

with closed curtains, Mom crept

while Boy & Girl slept –


belongings in a closed trunk,

engines turned on

and drove away in the caravan,

the rear-view mirror showing

perfect places for broken angel

wings –

a utopian dumpsite for

adult shortcomings.


The open road park-

ing lot, suitable for a child-like

run-a-long, hosted

a battle of solitary glances

and untrusting stances –

treacherous fan out

blowing them into oblivion.


But nurture was weaker than nature,

taking, tucking Boy & Girl in,


their psychedelic dreams –



imagination spreading through

dried-up roots.


Boy: back-packing burden

of life on his shoulders.

Arrow cuts boy –


heart-breaking realization.


Girl: spilling her world

from a magic suitcase.

Launching spells through a bow –


happy prestidigitation.


Boy: a compass, 2 photographs, 3 brushes, 4 cubes –


mathematical precision

for practical problem



Girl: talking clocks

between gloves and socks

with snake charming thoughts.

Bedtime monsters

transfigured to animal rugs –


proud display of childish hunters.


Boy & Girl: a collage of fresh

fertilizing friends,

catalytic agents of foliage

ear growth. Over here


the nosy green neighbours

found their way back

home replacing

the mother-drone who


washing her hands,

(guilt reduced to agitated drops)

back-glanced with

an afterthought:


What a nice day to blow them away.