Gift
http://www.maverickmagazine.com/articles/5/1/Gift-/Page1.html
Albino Carrillo
Albino Carrillo is an Associate Professor of Poetry and Creative Writing in the English Department of the University of Dayton. His one book is IN THE CITY OF SMOKING MIRRORS, published by the University of Arizona Press. Over the past 21 years, his work has appeared in national literary journals such as The Americas Review, Puerto Del Sol, The Antioch Review, Blue Mesa Review, and Columbia. By Albino Carrillo
Published on 01/10/2009
It was the dark black smoke of la grifa
that killed Nevarez one night in April
sitting in bed, hands on the only woman
who ever loved him.
that killed Nevarez one night in April
sitting in bed, hands on the only woman
who ever loved him.
It was the dark black smoke of la grifa
that killed Nevarez one night in April
sitting in bed, hands on the only woman
who ever loved him.
There was no cruel light from the mirror
or the sun--there wasn't any transcription
from another world, etched
into the ether. But love
drifting this way and that. The balloon
he saw, low, near the edge of his life
the lights gone out. It was Hiroshima's
dark smoke that burned him
into the other side--not the woman
who loved him, but the dream
of her cruel light, a mirror from the sun
floating over every city on earth.
that killed Nevarez one night in April
sitting in bed, hands on the only woman
who ever loved him.
There was no cruel light from the mirror
or the sun--there wasn't any transcription
from another world, etched
into the ether. But love
drifting this way and that. The balloon
he saw, low, near the edge of his life
the lights gone out. It was Hiroshima's
dark smoke that burned him
into the other side--not the woman
who loved him, but the dream
of her cruel light, a mirror from the sun
floating over every city on earth.