Rodulfo González #15

Poetry

color me black with grackle feathers / after the sunset showers of August / when I’m dusting the smell of fresh bread

Poetry by Elidio la Torre Lagares


color me black with grackle feathers
after the sunset showers of August

when I’m dusting the smell of fresh bread
creeping in from the bakery two

blocks down and the cars seem
to have disappeared from the black

wet street that leads the way out
and the way in to the town

I want wings and desire it’s always
present perfect in humble hops over

the puddles that open like eyes
on the back of a frog

the air is full of the wet smell
of dampened gardens after the rain

and it burdens me blue like Crayola
birds that dapple in memory

the world spins on my finger tips
and I suspect there won’t be

a silence big enough to basket
the shadow child running after me


Elidio La Torre Lagares is the author of the newly released collection, Wonderful Wasteland and other natural disasters: Poems (University Press of Kentucky 2019), which is part of the New Poetry and Prose Series sponsored by Centre College. Having earned his MFA in creative writing from the University of Texas at El Paso, Elidio now teaches literature and creative writing at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras’ Department of Comparative Literature. His work has appeared in numerous journals and magazines, including CENTRO Journal, Azahares, Sargasso, Acentos Review, Nagari, Malpaís Review, and Ariel Chart. Find Elidio at https://www.elidiolatorrelagares.com/ and follow him on Twitter at @elidiolatorre

Buy Elidio La Torre Lagares’ debut collection in English, Wonderful Wasteland and other natural disasters: Poems, here.


Share this:


Related Posts
limestone-admin -

The Places You Go When You’re Alive

I walked into the kitchen and peered through the sliding door. Brad stood on the deck. The night had sucked him into a time machine that spit him back out looking more worn and tired than ever before. He rubbed his face and held a jack knife in his right hand. The kind my father used to carry when he hunted. The blade faced the outside of his thigh and he blinked wildly.

Fiction by Sarah Walker

Read more

Share this:
limestone-admin -

BULLETPROOF VEST

We’re the only ones we / race against, we think. We speak / in tongues. We know that family / matters most. Bang, bang. “What will / we have today?” we ask / when we serve at oily restaurants.

Poetry by Colin Criss

Read more

Share this: