Two poems by NAYELLY BARRIOS
On Holding Shadows Hostage
you have been fighting off lions
all afternoon
say you have locked them
in the room we hang fruit to dry
and all you want now
is your shadow
which I keep under my bed
next to a bach trumpet
nightly
your shadow types up letters
the dingswipe&keys keep me up
wishing
I did not keep that old typewriter
had never stashed that shadow there
I say your shadow has gone stale you’ll have to remold
& reattach it
like peter pan? you ask
with soap?
but we both know
that didn’t work
you go into your backyard studio
sponge & bucket
knife in hand
grind shards of glass
old scraps of clay
after some days
you emerge
a ten ft shadow by your side
like a brush on a palette
silent
still
I’ll grow into it
every dusk
I see you fishing with your shadow
ponds and lakes no longer enough
your sink line curves toward the sky
like an elephant’s trunk
hooked on to nothing yet
102 The Paris-American
you have been fighting off lions
all afternoon
say you have locked them
in the room we hang fruit to dry
and all you want now
is your shadow
which I keep under my bed
next to a bach trumpet
nightly
your shadow types up letters
the dingswipe&keys keep me up
wishing
I did not keep that old typewriter
had never stashed that shadow there
I say your shadow has gone stale you’ll have to remold
& reattach it
like peter pan? you ask
with soap?
but we both know
that didn’t work
you go into your backyard studio
sponge & bucket
knife in hand
grind shards of glass
old scraps of clay
after some days
you emerge
a ten ft shadow by your side
like a brush on a palette
silent
still
I’ll grow into it
every dusk
I see you fishing with your shadow
ponds and lakes no longer enough
your sink line curves toward the sky
like an elephant’s trunk
hooked on to nothing yet
102 The Paris-American
Triptych for My Mother
1
I remember how you dug through the trash bin
for remains of your neck how you cried
as you puzzled your smiling head
back onto your body
How I thought it’s just a picture
you took weeks ago I still remember that woman
my child’s game of cut
& paste dismembered
creaseless face
mesquite hair
that playful pose
2
Because at your age
it is a feat
you announce that your body
has smeared
a heavy smog of red
on your underwear
3
We sit by a deer-horn cactus watch slivers
of the moon unknit Queen of the Night
buds at the seam
I tell you they only bloom once a year
petals under the moon tonight
will be dry crescents
under the cactus tomorrow
you swear this is the second time
they bloom this summer
say they’ll bloom again
A neck crooks toward the fullness of the moon
extends its limbs
in one heavy sigh
103 The Paris-American
1
I remember how you dug through the trash bin
for remains of your neck how you cried
as you puzzled your smiling head
back onto your body
How I thought it’s just a picture
you took weeks ago I still remember that woman
my child’s game of cut
& paste dismembered
creaseless face
mesquite hair
that playful pose
2
Because at your age
it is a feat
you announce that your body
has smeared
a heavy smog of red
on your underwear
3
We sit by a deer-horn cactus watch slivers
of the moon unknit Queen of the Night
buds at the seam
I tell you they only bloom once a year
petals under the moon tonight
will be dry crescents
under the cactus tomorrow
you swear this is the second time
they bloom this summer
say they’ll bloom again
A neck crooks toward the fullness of the moon
extends its limbs
in one heavy sigh
103 The Paris-American
Nayelly Barrios is a Rio Grande Valley native. Her work has appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, Puerto del Sol, and DIAGRAM. She has been featured as the LoWriter of the Week on Poet Juan Felipe Herrera's website and is a recent participant of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. She is a founding editor of Ostrich Review.