Oliver de la Paz was born in Manila, Philippines. He is a co-founder and a board member of Kundiman, a not-for-profit organization committed to the discovery and cultivation of emerging Asian-American poets. A recipient of a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship, his work has appeared in journals such as Quarterly West, Cream City Review, Third Coast, North American Review, and elsewhere. "Names Above Houses," a book of his prose and verse, was a winner of the 2000 Crab Orchard Award Series and was published by Southern Illinois University Press in 2001. "Furious Lullaby," his second book, will be published by Southern Illinois University Press in September 2007. Permission granted from Southern Illinois University Press for these poems from "Furious Lullaby." 

Aubade with Scorpions and Monsoon 

Little sleeper, I mentioned the scorpions 
were thoughtless in the rain, as they swam down 

the length of the green skins to the flood, eel-like 
with furious tails. Earlier, the sky 

had turned a mustard color proving that August 
and its rains would soon bathe the desert, making 

the whole thing become a dark scar. Water caused 
the scorpions to shelter against the cacti 

spikes. Their yellow-brown exoskeletons 
click-clacked as they climbed atop one another, 

preserving themselves. Of course the cacti 
were indifferent to all this as are you 

when you are sleeping. How calamitous 
it would be to miss your slumber. I know 

it’s early and daybreak is just another 
accident sufficient for us to snub 

in our weariness. Listen, the monsoon’s 
relentless. The lightning leapt from cloud 

to cloud in whole valleys. It looked like 
a flashlight shined on the rafters 

of the firmament. What an astonishment 
to see the desert take on water in starved 

portions. However, your god is sleep 
and it’s difficult to admonish one 

so calm and white. You’re like a chalcedony 
street on a Sunday. Listen, this is hard

and I’d hate to wake you just to tell you 
the scorpions held each other by their pincers 

until dawn, spiraling down the saguaros in amber rosettes. 
Hush. There are torrents above our heads 

and sleep is a phantom thing for us to hold. 

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Copyright, Oliver de la Paz.
All Rights Reserved.
Permission granted from Southern Illinois University Press for these poems from FURIOUS LULLABY.