Time is a Whisper
by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Time is a
whisper
that grows
to a
scream
in the pregnant
belly of
evening
under stars
not fully
formed.
Time always
squeaks by
twisting
its mouse
tail
in dark boarded
up houses
searching
for a hole
to crawl
in.
At Sea
The last agony
I left at sea,
the moon as witness
from its sky home.
The last time I wept
was at sea, the
first time was in the
hospital and
it was day one
of life in the world.
Sea was where I went,
always the sea,
where I spent my days
with my love and
my heart’s real terror.
Grain of Rice
In a grain of rice
I hid my verses,
a tiny island
of dark messages
trained to remain hushed.
Difficult to see,
verses disappear;
they become lost in
the thin grain of rice.
The words become lies.
The verses appear
as the grain of rice
becomes two, three, four,
hundreds of grains of
rice, boiled, with garlic
and salt added; soy
sauce, butter, slices of
bananas, onions,
and tomato sauce.
The verses appear.
Reading In
I have been reading in
I take a lot of
small breaks. I have
been gleaming over words
that I wish I had written.
In the backyard birds
sing like I wish I could
too. The whole day
I do not go out
because I am reading in
My eyes become
weary. The car sits
idle in the driveway.
The sun peeks in from
outside. The garbage
is in here. I have not
written a thing.
I have been reading in
I have made no effort
to go out. I feel free.
I do what I want to do.
BIO
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, born in Mexico, lives in Southern California, and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press. His other poetry books, broadsides, and chapbooks, have been published by Alternating Current Press, Deadbeat Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, New American Imagist, New Polish Beat, Poet’s Democracy, and Ten Pages Press (e-book).
