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

translated from the Spanish by Madeline Kwasnick