< Issue 6 >
Waiting for El Cerrajero (The Locksmith)
by Helen Estrada
I. Warrior days are over.
Fog from the north enters.
Stealth. Quiet.
Unexpected calm
sweeps over rapid waters.
I surrender.
Pulsing moon kisses whiskey river goodnight
as wild spirit wrestles me to sleep
and dreamland takes flight.
II. Through tidal pools, a grotto appears-
unassuming as a softly spoken star.
A tribe forged of grit and blood and brotherhood
climb the dripping walls of Apollo’s heart.
Cannonballs of laughter erupt from long-lived-in-lungs
as they speak in soul to one another, and reply in kind.
From the hotness a clubhouse calls to me,
its gate made of gratefulness, frame made of wind and night.
Beneath decrepit floorboards, I see
whites of eyes filled with my reflection.
The wooden roof, knotted with time and wisdom,
tells me anything is possible here.
There’s a gift inside, I can see its tattered bow-
gallant and strong- a deluge of beauty.
I don’t belong, but feel I’ve been here before,
or that I could belong, to this place I’ve always imagined.
Enter If You Dare, reads the door
captivated willingness turns the handle.
Locked.
III. I awaken to the echo of my breath.
Breath-- filled with longing.
Longing-- as fiery as june bugs. Hopeful as hummingbirds.
And wait for El Cerrajero to come.
Waiting for El Cerrajero (The Locksmith)
by Helen Estrada
I. Warrior days are over.
Fog from the north enters.
Stealth. Quiet.
Unexpected calm
sweeps over rapid waters.
I surrender.
Pulsing moon kisses whiskey river goodnight
as wild spirit wrestles me to sleep
and dreamland takes flight.
II. Through tidal pools, a grotto appears-
unassuming as a softly spoken star.
A tribe forged of grit and blood and brotherhood
climb the dripping walls of Apollo’s heart.
Cannonballs of laughter erupt from long-lived-in-lungs
as they speak in soul to one another, and reply in kind.
From the hotness a clubhouse calls to me,
its gate made of gratefulness, frame made of wind and night.
Beneath decrepit floorboards, I see
whites of eyes filled with my reflection.
The wooden roof, knotted with time and wisdom,
tells me anything is possible here.
There’s a gift inside, I can see its tattered bow-
gallant and strong- a deluge of beauty.
I don’t belong, but feel I’ve been here before,
or that I could belong, to this place I’ve always imagined.
Enter If You Dare, reads the door
captivated willingness turns the handle.
Locked.
III. I awaken to the echo of my breath.
Breath-- filled with longing.
Longing-- as fiery as june bugs. Hopeful as hummingbirds.
And wait for El Cerrajero to come.
HTML Comment Box is loading comments...