THE HOLE
I step outside
each morning
with my eyes
wide open
trying not to
fall into that
hole that has
no end and no
way out once
you fall inside.
UNSTITCH THE PAIN
How many ways could we unstitch our pain?
The embroidery around the heart is intricate
and deep. I implore my body to be strong as
I remove each stitch, some reveal fresh
wounds. Most are old that I know I should
forget about. It is not easy to move on. I try
to pretend the pain will go away before I am
laid to rest. In reality, in the end, it will go
away and I wish with all my heart I will not
pass it on to someone who is close to me.
FIRE AND SMOKE
It expands,
fire and smoke.
Fire becomes
silence and
smoke, and it
multiplies.
It is in
us, a spark.
Keep it far.
Smoke travels
high and low,
far and wide.
Our anger
is like fire
and smoke. It
simmers deep
inside. Keep
calm. Stay calm.
Meditate.
Keep the noise
of those who
hurt you out.
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, born in Mexico, now lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Hobo Camp Review, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. His poetry book, Peering into the Sun, was published by Poet’s Democracy.
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