Night Whispers
Life is a fable
Night whispers
Into my wound
I clutch my heart
Life without love is
A bloodless
Body without
Pain withering
Sweet rumours speak in
A simple
But soulless tongue
I float on water
A blood pool
Wet with sadness
Through the Darkness
I try to find you in the pages I read,
a lonesome but hopeful figure like me,
your silhouette followed by the sun
or the moon, always walking alone.
Every year it is always the same.
Never one to demand things, you
walk through the darkness, the heavens
a witness above your head. Seasons
upon seasons, the lonesomeness
spars with your hopeful nature.
Who knows what fate will bring?
I have a bevy of questions for the dying
light. Will I become consumed by
time? I am waiting for answers.
What time is it anyway? Will it run
out as easily as I can take a breath?
I wish no malice on anyone that does
not deserve it. I want an answer,
not an explanation I will not understand.
As the heavens keep witness above
my head, is the dying light an omen?
Night, darkness, falls all around.
The moon and stars fade away.
I want to know if that is a sign,
the beginning of my demise.
Change
In the San Gabriel Valley
I make my home. It is the
place I sleep in my bed
because change is hard.
I could be happier living
with the one I love. But
love is a two-way street.
In the San Gabriel Valley
I grow my orange tree.
The taste is bittersweet.
People are kind enough.
Change is hard, which
is why I still live here. I
would not move to New
York. I would be back here
in a New York minute.
My breathing would be so
fast. I have no explanation
why. I just know I am used to
living in the San Gabriel
Valley. If anyone knows me,
I believe it is just a guess.
In the San Gabriel Valley
I fit in. The days come and
go. The years as well. Soon
I will be gone. For the very
first time I will be forced to
move. I will be buried in
the San Gabriel Valley or
remain a ghost in my home.
I will live a life in immortality,
a life retracing my steps.
No one will know me. It will
be a good thing for me.
I do not like change. I
never feel like moving out.
I will go to the orange tree
when spring is in full bloom.
Carefully, I will pick an orange.
It will not be easy choosing
one. The experience will be
marvelous. I will not take
it for granted, not ever.
The Walk-Up Hill Street
A double chocolate cookie,
small coffee,
and Coke Zero
for second breakfast.
The walk-up Hill Street
in a cloudless sky
with the unforgiving sun
wiped me out.
A screaming man with
mental health issues
seemingly addressing me
with epithets
made me cross the street
taking the longer
route up the hill only made
the screams less
audible. It is a good thing
he did not cross
the street to start something.
In no mood
and no shape to fight
I walked up like Sisyphus
pushing an invisible stone
up the hill.
Poetry Is Not for Everyone
After Roque Dalton
You like what you like.
I love that about you
most of all. Things are
simple for you. Days
go smoothly. My likes
are different. I like to
to try new things. That
is just me. I like poetry
and you do not. It is not
the end for you and me.
Through my blood,
poetry flows, like life.
I love all the little
things about you.
I like bread more than
you and poetry too.
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal - Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, lives in California and works in Los Angeles. He is the author of Raw Materials (Pygmy Forest Press), Before and After Midnight (Deadbeat Press), The Book of Absurd Dreams (New Polish Beat), Peering into the Sun (Poet’s Democracy), Songs for Oblivion (Alternating Current Press/Propaganda Press), and Everything is Permitted (Ten Pages Press, ebook). Kendra Steiner Editions has published 8 chapbooks, including Make the Light Mine, Garden of Rocks, and Overcome. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published in 2021 by Rogue Wolf Press. His poems in English and Spanish have appeared online and in print.
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