/ in my eyes a stranger with light from many miles away /
BY CARLOS PRICE-SANCHEZ
when I find you furtive as a stone
your forehead to the ground
in the center of the yard
I want to ask if this is praying
am I your stranger I watch you
caught beneath the veil of family legends
canvases stowed in a swollen wall
books dropped like bruised pears in the Caribbean
these last few days you’ve done nothing but mourn
for a world I could never see become
a statue of mercy
at the bottom of a well
if only I could speak an elephant’s language
send microtones
through the earth instead
I will show you the palms
of my hands hide my ear
in the small of your back
I’ll remember the days we spoke
only in metaphors for burning grass
each night a crack
in the moon’s
half orange
if only to be a pillar of salt or
a paper
charm
aflame and tumbling
into your face.
if only a lesson in gentleness:
corn sprouting through the break
in an irradiated skull.
/ dream head with fields ablaze /
BY CARLOS PRICE-SANCHEZ
on the southwest side of the hospital
where the hardtop meets a field
the sun’s horse comes
swinging its machete of light
over the thrall of grass
like a mile long breath
I admit watching you
traverse the waking dream
has been difficult
like a wooden altar
built in the stomach of a wolf
you are a captive
heavy with visions
hills of sugar ripe with gunpowder
you wonder how to find your own voice
today you don’t even remember
who I am to you
a soldier a field
crossed at gunpoint
like the body of a great snake
you see me and cry out
me están matando
this land of careful death
I will inherit a mouth full
of rich soil
stalks of sugarcane breaking
against the nights’ back