|edward wells II|
1. Calabaza Negra
rich, pudding growing inside a gourd.
It's absurd-it's Mexico.
A young male holding on to the side of a pick-up
as it circles a park-"Yo tengo vida!".
In this moment of nothing (and the certainty of the impending).
The next day, a Nation exists; a young man is living, growing
September 16th and a reality of ideas,
the speed of coming into being,
and before, it was the absurdity of this place's commonplace:
an assault rifle in the park, and
before, I sat in a classroom and watched her, gave him back a tie,
and Patrick Swayze is dead, and
before, water-filled streets (after a night's rain),
and before, crowded buses.
And this morning, people still sing in the courtyard of the apartment.
I finished eating the calabaza negra on a tortilla.
It isn't raining.
2. Cat Sill
to the front
flush on a sill's ledge
the rear and lower legs
resting. A bottom hidden beneath fur,
perhaps contacting the surface. A tail wrapped over
the unrefined smooth of stone plaster
and curving up, arcing to direct its
end toward the head, flat against
the wall like ivy.