Volume 8 | Issue 2 | Fall 2007
horseback on a clay trail in jalisco
i find two vanilla cream scorpions
one on it's back and one in tears
i ask the sad scorpion if he knows
the way back to colima
his sun cracked voice
whispers between spittled sand
'save me from being without my isabella'
his eyes roll back and his arms
lift with the rise of my boot
i scoop the dead lovers into my palm
and bury them on the side of the
clay trail in jalisco
There is a little native boy outside my hut window. If I move more than two fingers around this pencil he will hear me and alert the tribesman. Last night I was able to bribe him with a piece of carob left over from the care package you sent. He allowed me to pace my room.
Tonight his smile faded when I had no mas. Now his marble eyes survey the walls outside, and I'm scared.
He reminds me of our son. He has your spindly body, Helen. His caramel skin ashes like yours in the heat.
I never understood how your body dried like a saladito. Remember when I begged you to sweat? Anyway, he reminds me of
When I woke this morning my gut burned. I think it may be malaria, but I'm not sure. It comes in waves now.
It must be ten degrees in here. I can see my breath over the words but this parchment is soaked in salt, so I know my body is broken.
I can hear his eyes, Helen, the little native boy. I can hear him sniff at my movements. He has a broken foot, a fishing accident. He drags it when he walks, so I hear him shuffle, drag, shuffle, drag, all around the god damn perimeter.
I think about killing him sometimes. One of my hands could fit around his entire neck, Helen. I could be swift about it. Maybe when this full moon breaks and the crickets realize there is no audience for their orchestra. I don't know. It was just a thought.
I will write again in the morning.
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The views expressed in The Oklahoma Review do not necessarily correspond to those of Cameron University, and the university's support of this magazine should not be seen as an endorsement of any philosophy other than faith in -- and support of -- free expression. The content of this publication may not be reproduced without the written consent of The Oklahoma Review or the authors. © 2007 The Oklahoma Review