First, you carry no rider. It is to sting and eat sweat, this life, but more itis to live near windows mostly in quiet, or to wait for the fast opening,and when it comes, I want to climb down from myself. I want to leavego the bridle. So I have started watching, standing at the…
Caught on my own between homes, I had no choicebut to live for awhile in the Lost and Found department of Trans-World Airline at LaGuardia Airportwhere I worked my first job and could not live. With a key to the dark back of the storage hangar,I made a space of lost suitcases stacked into a…
Twitter: If you had a mermaid phase as a kidyou’re probably bisexual now How did I not understandwhen I swam with my anklescrossed to make a finor when I askedmy friend to touch my arm,my skin? She wrote love you xoon my ribcage in black pen.All summer we hidin my family’s camperbehind the daisy curtainsand it…
From the roof of the horse barn, shinglesof ice begin their irreversible skid.Hoofprints frozen last December appearfreshly stamped in muddy earth. It’s been winter so long, he fears the thaw.What will become of the shadow-selfthat glided beside him, after the Chevywas parked at the Marathon station, and they skied the drifted shoulderof the rutted, unplowed…
—after Ghassan Zaqtan Dawn breaks slowly hereand the rosefinch makes its ablutionsin the nascent light. Dust has passed usby as has a westerly wind, and now the quadcopterschatter their morning songs. Minaretsare strewn about the city awaiting a proper burial.The shepherd prophets are long gone, dear poet,but the conquerors linger and every daymore of our…
Abandoned railway station, Texas desertDecember 4, 1900* Here they touch people all nightwith the mouths of rifle barrels. Thatis how the guards tap out their countof one hundred and twelve Boricuasgoing rigid inside this chilling box. I close my eyes, I countthree white shirts rowing night’s current.Youngbloods who ducked the guards’ bullets, they mustcount on…
Translated from the Spanish by Pablo Medina That pasta in cream sauce we made when we finished,that pasta we ate still trembling(we left the water on the stove,on a very low flame,and fifteen minutes before the endyou flew, barefoot, and threw it inand barefoot flew back, remember?) That pasta back when dusk fellwith its smell of…
At the Musée Gustave MoreauI looked at all the surfaces whileyou explained the stories. At the base of the spiral stairswe bared our eyes at Les Chimères,a painting pale and unfinished. What a heavy task he set himselfto finish with color and formall the empty limbs, I thought. Agitated by outlines, you read:He stopped working…
“See, one day, not now, we will be gone from this earth where we know the gladiolas.”—Aracelis Girmay But not today. today there is no funeral& no need for a burial shroud & a casket.in this room we are alive—each one of ustending the flowers that bloom on the smallearth of our hearts & watching…
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