Poetry Issue 23

ISSUE 23 : JANUARY-JUNE 2017

Louyzza Maria Victoria Vasquez

Tomorrow

it is best they do not see
your face.

Anyway, there is nothing left

once the spirit flees
save for the stench
of rotten meat.

Blood the rain made
clean on unsettled
streets,

only yesterday
bayed at the night,
your wife’s

sullen mouth
hit. The children
hard asleep.

For now: money
you wish the body
could outlive,
the Nazareno foot
kissed to deliver
leftovers,
voluntary arrests,
and hangovers.
Thank you, amen
means less
to compete with.

Get some rest.

Tomorrow is more certain.
A little extra for gin.
A real something.

Space for food
guaranteed.

No matter, your wife
says, having none
is better than nothing.

The bruise she touches
over and over.