Portents
2017
1.
I wake up one morning
On Minoa. The sun rose but
the petunias lose their luster.
Ash falls soft and slow.
Shall I run? And to where?
2.
We met and instantly
You demanded I bleach
My hair blonde
And shave my armpits.
3.
The river Ayotipác vanished
with a high-throated soundless cry
from its bed like a woman abused.
Housewives stir dry soup,
wash their hair in collected rain.
Old men scuff the white river stones
seeking the underworld door
to death, that dry phenomenon.
2010 - present
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