Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Muted Things When I was of age, older than letting go of the drool and shake of my little arms, I learned three dirty things inside me: My father said, there's nothing for lunch.        (I’m poor) I felt myself blush upon discovering the throbbing, huge sex of one of my uncles under his pajamas.      (I’m a homosexual) I saw a very fat cousin convulsively clutching a glass, singing the toast from “Traviata.”          (and I love Art) Events seething inside me.

Cold Fronts There are days that decompose moans, and there are dizziness’s and cold front sentences, pasts stars that can sense every emotion. They remember everything. It is the inescapable shock of memory; the beginning of a day that has no choice but to begin, that just offers itself. Who knows what it feels.  It never gives up.