Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Two poems by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal


I run from my shadow.
I know it bends in strange shapes.
In the sun my shadow shrinks.
Bees sting my shadow and I feel the pain.
Late at night my shadow grows.
It falls under the spell of the moon.
Slowly it is swallowed by light.
My shadow looks like a giant ant.
I find no comfort in that.
When I’m barefoot my shadow wears shoes.
I curse at my shadow.
The shadow does not respond.
It wears a skirt when I’m wearing slacks.



If I could open my eyes,
I would be in some other place
looking up at the sky
where everything happens.

I would stick my head out the
door for a little while at least.
From this other place I
would see through everything.

I would see past the sun, past
everything, the buildings,
the green trees, and my life.

The hours would fall from the clocks.
It would be some other place where
everything would seem smaller.

Author bio:

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal's chapbook, Digging A Grave, is available from Kendra Steiner Editions.

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