Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

you left… so I turned off  the lights autumn sky

photo by kathryn willett-- poem by sergio ortiz

pollution I know the twilight  of the roads it glides  through my veins censored  like a battered wife or a brain  cyst it clutters my lungs  with phlegm

wordless flower… I am in you without knowing why

albatross “y hay cuerpos que no deben repetirse en la aurora”                         Oda a Walt Whitman, Federico Garcia Lorca there was a beginning an invitation to play pool, the maneuver to have another beer on our first night together there was a middle complications—a need to see you on my bed running your hands through the carapace of my skin there was an end A Farewell to Arms of forgotten names the last clown in a parade taking down the marquee

loneliness is the art of forgetting wishes are a weightless leap if they're not used up

I want to die rolling in the arms of a cello player naked to the waist rolling in my sweet baby’s arms

homenaje a Cid Corman surge la voz en el espacio más denso del silencio, reclinarme sobre el sol y morir en comunidad de palabras, imágenes sencillas que tejen posibilidades

fear as punishment he locked me in the closet little did he know I was more afraid of the shadow behind the door to keep from peeing a treasure hunt inside his shoes a roman coliseum and a few garments that smelled like his gurry there was no such thing as terror, a stutter, tobacco, my mother’s empty  embrace 

dreamcatcher waving in the air... night image of barefooted boys  holding out their hands

my first eternity a walk into silence near the river of tears where a young man on a bicycle fades into the homeless space of my skin how can I forget those tremulous hours where we bathed in each other’s arms water on water—condensed

recluse what is it that hides in the early morning hours? a peace that strikes my naked body a silence— a memory yesterday I walked through cool corridors and saw men play some had legs as long as a red willows some walked on wheels all had happy hands mockingbirds returning from the sea together a smile, a voice that almost made me cry

lonely winter a single star shining through the mist stranded in this bitter air a silent moon *what did I know, what did I know… of cold, warm hands the sun that stayed by my side that bitter night citation Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays

the vanishing shape of a leaf… filter of age

he approaches spreading the fan of his tail cocksure he shakes his feathers pecks the ground for seeds

without a roof I’ve never given great thought to the “I” of my soul   whether it’s a blade of grass or a gathering of acorns in the park twenty autumns ago before a suicide attempt— I see my body as it is now, torn and aching like the hem of my jeans regret is not slanted, it is my own  construction the home I built the house I chose 

she has a craving for Popsicle— a return to her childhood…  she’s  *leaning on the sun it’s hot, so, so hot Citation: Emily Dickinson

you died in my arms right after pressing a kiss on my chest,  it tastes  like murder... * the things  that we  love tell us what we are citation: Thomas Aquinas

she forgets to pick up the phone waiting  for me to come home ... an empty socket by her side