They come looking for me

to tame them, to dampen the nerve;

Dip their bodies in a sea of gold,

chant a wordless incantation

over their darkest dreams,

and so I do.

 

Men thick and cool as marble

guarding the archways of sacred places—

Every bend and hollow smooth,

waiting for me.

Silent as I enter,

rigid as they’re carved,

until they break along the bed line

beneath the chisel of my breath.

 

Men as broad and wide

as the canals of Nayarit—

Brackish rivers meandering

through fingers of mangrove.

I cast my arms out like oars

to traverse verdant estuaries

that lie, still sleeping,

beyond the heron’s roost.

 

Men, like entire countries

at war with one another—

Their landscape, a firefight;

Their boundary lines, tremulous.

Wanting nothing more than

for me to conquer them at last,

to replant their trees,

rebuild their temples.

 

To sow a field of wildflowers

where the earth is stained in blood.

 

*The views and opinions expressed on this website are solely those of the original authors and contributors. These views and opinions do not necessarily represent those of Spotter Up Magazine, the administrative staff, and/or any/all contributors to this site.

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