LatinosUSA

Isolation

Red fruit rinds, washed fish bins, smooth oyster
grooves, you left no fingerprints, no noon moisture
for nursery plants, crow songs nor sugar bubbles
just a singular dishrag on the stove, deli cup of
snow-goo, cloister filled with ribs and ribbon tendons
for a Friday night special, you saved eggplant peels
in jars, purple as a spoon of blister tomatoes, predawn
and festering like untreated wounds, say sorry, say
you’ll return with kiwi berries and love, before August’s
disaster storms, we’ll save fresh water in buckets, dream
about vanilla bean and caviar lime, return as a fly or dream,
on afternoons a glister and a bulb, your heart the cradle
in which one might push a hand or a lighter, toy fire
everything these days is rubies, blue flowers whose
surface predicts storms, you’re the hopeless wine
and whine in the wasteful-shame cabinet, the many
varistors with their teal bodies, electrical resentment, don’t
tell me you can’t hear me, the screaming and prayer
to spring apart the past like curtains or to avoid healing,
even still you might return but I won’t know your face.