(For Carlos Treviño, Sr.)
I am a pebble under a two-ton boulder,
mi preciosa. The air blowing through
these empty rooms. I’m the churning
waters that won’t be calmed,
and the bird that flings itself, inconsolably,
against your window.
© BARB REYNOLDS
Published in Right Hand Pointing, May 2018.
This poem may not be reproduced without the author’s permission.