Four Poems
Margarita Losada Vargas
Threat
a word i thought dead
is beating
Ambush
i’m closing my eyes
but i think i’m opening them
i was never told
which corpse birthed me
i wanted to be
the assassin’s dagger for a moment
ripping out
my last corporeal syllable
make
a spoken portrait
of my own marrow
Subtle
there is music in every thing
a wounded vowel
an apple
Orphanhood
south is the cardinal point of my eyes
it’s not that the light is out
here
inside
it’s that i live with the feeling
of not wanting to be
outside of your womb
the feeling
of breathing air
robbed from the dead
a word i thought dead
is beating
Ambush
i’m closing my eyes
but i think i’m opening them
i was never told
which corpse birthed me
i wanted to be
the assassin’s dagger for a moment
ripping out
my last corporeal syllable
make
a spoken portrait
of my own marrow
Subtle
there is music in every thing
a wounded vowel
an apple
Orphanhood
south is the cardinal point of my eyes
it’s not that the light is out
here
inside
it’s that i live with the feeling
of not wanting to be
outside of your womb
the feeling
of breathing air
robbed from the dead
translated from the Spanish by Madeline Kwasnick