Poetry from Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Fierce Gold Sun 
Fierce gold sun
sits on my chest,
wraps its scorching
arms around my
shoulders. Its breath
singes the hair
on my body.
Is this what bombs
do? What human
being could think
of such a thing?
Creators of
death, inventors
of destruction,
how did you sleep
when the bombs dropped
on Mother Earth?
The blossoming
flowers were not
enough. The roots
ripped from the ground.
Human beings
melted away.

One Slice of Toast
Drinking water
or drinking tea,
just eight ounces
an hour before
the procedure.
I could have clear
soup or clear juice.
One slice of toast
an hour before
the procedure.
Nothing else, just
one of four clear
liquids and that
one slice of toast
with no butter.
Perhaps this should
be my meal at
least once a week.
I would lose weight.
I could cheat by
eating one soft
or hard-boiled eggs.
A cracker with
no salt at all.

The Last Night

It was the last night
I would drive her home.
Even the car was sad.
I drove home afterward.
I loved for the last time.
I went to sleep for years.
I stopped believing in everything.
I slept on and on
dreaming of the next life.

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