Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Medusa Medusa didn’t die in the pantheon of mythologies, she lives inside us  with her ravenous eyes. She has no gender or specific place, she keeps growing in our body like a terminal illness. To find her all we need to do is stare into the face of cancer, stare at the snakes that fall from our hair, at the man who breaks like a child.

Poems to my Double Years pass from me to you like crow’s feet my tears don’t stop rolling down your cheeks a breath separates the mirror from the reflection I opened his eyes saw my darkness live is there a boatman to can carry light from end to end? beyond me you don’t exist to exhale the ghost is a task for the living to drink memories through the eyes is the purpose of the dead split the bread of illusion in my mouth

Wounded Babylon I love your confusion the scrambled birds of your tongue your simultaneous words your Babel    your Delphi Sibyl of enemy voice I love it when you say night and it is dawn when you say I am and it is the wind I love your wounded Babylon the misunderstanding that forces you to make up a fable