Guest Edited Poetry
Eje
by Teri Vela After Eduardo Corral
Overwhelmed in sense. Incienso
fue en cien sombras. En cien sombras—
the hawk cried awake.
Curly headed extranjeros
rose to the sky for cues.
My mother gave me a dictionary to understand her second
language.
Semillas recursivas. On the other side
I was no simpler. Extranjera sencilla
Her memory waterfalls at the sight of luciernagas. Semillas extranjeras
The confusing sensation of after
The wagging tail of before
The plane lands the birds call the soil darkens
tarantulas and wild dogs bathe by the bank.
Suelo. Fecundo.
Often I try on the histories she refused
Sencilla. Sencilla.
How much of the land in me is
the land in her—
