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Alejandro Murguia Page 2
Another Voice Speaking
Somewhere between
night’s chaos
And dawn’s bitter glow
Your fingertips fold hours
into minutes
And a man waits at the end of
a street
For something, someone
Somewhere a voice calls
An echo of another time—a
land
Cupped in a sound that
lingers
At the edge of consciousness,
Somnambulistic
—a name without a name—
something in the air
a clock ticking backwards
towards the sea
a moment when life sleeps
and death opens a door
through a wall
we never suspect is waiting
for us
Lorca’s Dream
They tell me that your
clavicle
is a star over Andalucia
that your melancholic
metacarpals
still clutch a clod of earth
in Sevilla
that your hips have not
ceased dancing
in La Habana and in New York
that jasmines bloom in your
eye sockets
and every petal a poem
that your jaw bone is the
voice of all
the silenced ones, the
undocumented ones
those insulted and executed
that the moon cradles your
bones Fedérico
fragile as hummingbird wings
That’s what I was told one
silvery night
by the hip red ants
that sleep in your cranium
“Lorca’s Dream” first appeared in Native Tongue,
C.C. Marimbo Press, Berkeley, 2013
© Copyright, 2013,
Alejandro Murguia. |