Where the moon’s a canoe on a slate-blue lake,
and the chirr of cicadas loose violin strings,
the clouds of uncountable butterfly wings
confuse things. A phrase may contain a mistake.
Aguas means “Watch out!” The water’s your clue.
Mi vida means “Sweetheart” extends to the trees.
Te quierro: I want more than I love you.
Loteria: the poor man’s Monopoly-
cum-Bingo with beans you put back in the jar.
El alma, the soul, rises from an old street
where more than one soul’s disappeared in a bar
beside the new kiosk for tourist police.
El cuerpo: the corps, and the body alone.
Mi cielo: there must be ten more ways to say,
You are Heaven. Amor, he will ask you to stay.
El chiste—the joke—is a necklace of bone.
About the author
Deborah Diemont lives in Syracuse, New York and has spent summers in Chiapas, Mexico where she’s organized an annual reading with local poets whose…Read the full bio
Issue 12 · June 2011
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- From the editors