CASUAL RAGS
In casual rags I made my way
down the streets of El Paso
saturated with the city’s aromas.
The trees were perfectly situated
to drop shade as the burning sun
loitered above. Each day seemed
worse than the next as drought
played its silly games. No water
fell from the sky for weeks. I
checked each day as I walked
in my casual rags drenched in
sweat. At night I dreamt of the
water that would not drop from
the sky. In silence I meditated
and imagined how great it would
feel for rain to start falling on me.
MOVING OUT
The curtains are drawn.
I folded the sheets.
There is no hold here
where I once was held.
This is goodbye. I have
to let you go, house.
Every memory is etched
in every cell of my being.
Mother, father, raised me.
A THOUSAND YEARS
My body is not much to look at.
I am the least interesting man on earth.
I have never been to Paris, France.
I have been to the Paris Las Vegas.
I have never kissed you on a winter
morning or at any season. I have never
dreamt about you kissing me. You
hugged me once. If I lived to eternity,
I will never forget that. If I lived for
another year, I would not forget that.
If I lived a thousand years, I would
always remember that day.
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in Los Angeles.He has been published in Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Chiron Review, Kendra SteinerEditions, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. His most recent poems have appeared in Four FeathersPress.
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