who is it that
crawled into a shell
this afternoon xcept
it was a cocoon then
a pill orange coated
blue round &
rattling
//
took me / take me
morning & night
reestablish the
blood / supply
my beautiful
walking stick
rooted / center
el ombligo
unbalanced
dominoes &
spinning tops
//
left the pill form
for mucus membranes
scabbing like finger
nails to join the rest
of mi gente arriba
donde están bailando
como un cuerno
shattered en el suelo
las luces bouncing
& screaming against
the lacquered floor
boards y cervezas
//
no voy a responder
a tus preguntas
mi amor ya estoy
bien cansada y tengo
toda la noche to
contemplate our
crawling together
Beneath the Scalpel
“I could see the hospital in the distance and imagined the surgeons in the basement sharpening their knives.” – Jim Harrison
They’re performing
surgery on me
when the lights go out.
With their phones,
they put their flash
on to finish the job
to get the bullet
out of my chest.
Black fire destroyed
my flesh
in the streets
of Caracas.
Agua, Ayuda
I didn’t even hear the—
I felt it rip through me first
Por favor
like a sledgehammer
to the ribs. They grab the
¡Ayúdame!
bola with tweezers
and yank it gently—
metal striking metal
Murciélagos
El viejito
with the accordion
is singing tonight.
A child runs
across the cobblestones;
circles back to his mother.
Los murciélagos de Sevilla
vuelan en el viento. The lights
from the bridge
reflect along the river—
it silvers and sways como
las ojas en sus aguas.
In front of my eyes, a bat
flutters, swoops, and returns
underneath el Puente.
The dark sky warms my skin.
[la lengua]
“Si es de jade se hace astillas, si es de oro se destruye, si es plumaje de katzalli se rasga…” –Nezahualcóyotl
Antes de la conquista
we spoke
whatever the fuck
we felt like.
Zapoteco—Maya Yucateco—
Náhuatl—Tzotzil—
Mixteco—Huichol—
Tzeltal—Chatino—
Después de la sangre
dried to scabs
una lengua deformada
pero útil; a mouth
-ful stinking
of shimmering fish.
Garrett Gomez
What is the significance of this work to you?
These poems are significant to me for a number of reasons. However, maybe the most important one is that I get to share stories. Stories that are not necessarily mine, but that need to be shared. One of the poems features details of a surgery room in Caracas, Venezuela. My friend's parents are surgeons there, and (they) needed to finish their operation despite an electricity blackout. That (they) saved lives in the darkness with improvised phone light is Light itself. That is the significance of this work, to bring Light where there is darkness.
What is the significance of the form you chose for this work?
The form is the sonics. Sometimes, I yell about it.
What was your process for creating this work?
I try to mostly write poems of inspiration rather than imagination, which usually begins with a sound or phrase or image, and I let the natural flow of words rush out from there. However, one must always edit and revise, which is another way of saying locate, and it can be very difficult to revise one's own work. So I'd like to thank my friends who have helped shape these poems in one way or another with their direct or indirect influence: Alex Lemon, Curt Rode, Joe Darda, Ford McDonald, Jake Montgomery, Arantxa Soto and Julie Winspear.
Garrett Gomez is a California based poet. He was the recipient of a Fulbright García-Robles grant in 2018 and spends most of his time surfing, listening, and smiling. He is currently working on a co-authored chapbook with the poet Ford McDonald.
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