Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

. Angel of Shiraz At 7:30pm, Saturday, 23 October, 1982 four armed guards pushed their way into Mona’s house. Graceful emerald with crystal pearl eyes wrapping the embrace of children to your heart. Chasing hammer         cup bur-singing seventeen sonnets of love, so young it pains the curb. Three tic-tacs feel like years searching the drawers. Closet knobs gripping the guards’ hands as joyous temperatures rise to their ruby peek. “Loop lady, don’t say the emerald is only seventeen. Children follow what she speaks like roses marching straight into Zion.” I would die for You. “Furkhundih, azizum joon mama. Don’t worry. They are my brothers too.” There are no good-byes in that blindfolded prison of Sepah. Leaf Mothers rush from their heavenly chambers in anguish to safeguard the Emerald of Shiraz. Insults, interrogations, Bastinado. The Angel begs for the noose to le...

Thursday Gypsy Linda prepared for bed confident she could not receive bad news. It was Thursday, bad news was announced in dreams on Fridays. Linda walked over to the drawer and took out the tied chicken legs, and rubbed the tattoos, stricken by the taunt of sailors, on the right side of her neck for good luck. Gypsies don’t read each other’s palms. They understand war casualties, letter writing the fog, black and white images that make you forget the wind. She refused to think about the fuzz on his back, how it spread to his buttocks. The maid walked in the bedroom with the Acacia oil. She was as thin as phyllo dough with a huge belly. The señora wants me to brush her hair? ― Wait. Please, wash your hands. My husband will be home in the morning, I want my hair noticeable. Look at you, skinnier by the day. Are you certain about not telling me who the father is? Señora, he is an important man. He won’t give a shit abou...

Después de cruzar la calle loco con tu piel pero luego       luego te pienso más mío más tiempo más silencio                manantial de planetas cósmicos prestándole luz a mi sendero salpicando de alegrías (mis estrellas rotas o tal vez las nuestras) y aquí estamos tu sentado en mi lengua de roca yo recostado sobre tu pensamiento de lluvia comenzando a conocernos