tonight
like ghosts
our bones like
feathers
we stand in darkness
the dead run their gnarly fingers
through our darkened hair, for we are living
that is our sin
the knobby joints feel like
hollow wounds robando
sueños de mi cuerpo,
poniendo sombras en mi
cadáver
all they ask
is a few
ofrendas:
a bouquet of
zempasuchitl
a cup of leche
un chin de café
while in
our bodies
live rosy
breaths.
No comments:
Post a Comment