poem index

Fons

Pura López-Colomé
Reanimated, spirit restored, 
reincorporated, body restored, 
I contemplate between dreams 
the scene I've stolen 
like the one who took fire, 
like the one who opened the devil box 
out of curiosity, 
like the one who saw her equal 
and her life's love 
were the same and so effortlessly 
brought them together. 
I took exactly
what was not mine, 
with my eyes. 
I saw the sea inside you:
on your surface, mud. 
I kissed you like a shipwreck, 
like one who insufflates the word. 
With my lips I traveled 
that entire continent, 
Adam, from dirt, Nothing. 
I knew myself in your substance, 
grounded there, 
emitting aromatic fumes, 
an amatory banquet of ashes.

Copyright © 2002 by Pura López-Colomé. Reprinted from No Shelter, with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota. All rights reserved.

Pura López-Colomé

by this poet

poem
This world.
 
A sound sometimes dry,
metallic,
at times rubbery,
has settled the morning for good.
It has darkened little by little
the songs of various birds,
the croak of the daily,
wind among hedges,
the green yearning.
A man places with inexhaustible precision
one tile after the another on the roof of the
poem
Two bumblebees
extract nectar,
sweet and bitter
from the center
of the rose-colored petals
of a flower which is not a rose.
Sated,
they thud against the picture window
again and again,
fixed on escaping
with their bounty inside them,
into the air behind them,
incognizant that the path to freedom
has been