LILLA LATUS

LILLA LATUS

FRIDA

death  did not resemble

an old, wrinkled  lady

it was a dancing girl in

a Tehuacan dress

alluring and floating

above her head

like a bird  which

sat  over her eyes

on that day Frida

got on a bus

(she wanted to buy taco or churro)

which was to take her

to the limits

of pain

a driver was glancing

either at the picture of St.Mary of Guadalupe

or photos with naked girls

a painter with a bucket

full of red paint

was leaning  against a handrail

which was about to pierce

Frida’s pelvis

excluding one of

the possible versions

of future

and  Diego did not know then

that he would be

the next accident

A GIRL WITH RAINDROPS IN HER VOICE

She used to tell me about Plato and Aristotle.

Her Slavic accent sounded like gravel in the

Rain. Ing,ing, ing…

Feeling a fading shadow around my neck

I see a  bright cave paved with desire and

Fear. In her language love and hatred are feminine

Nothing was neuter. Golden mean in motion.

I was Alexander but not great enough to conquer

The furthest reaches of her soul.

Leaving  was a move excluding one of

The possible versions of future.

All places of my happiness are taken and create

Gloomy theory of forms.

Sitting in a brown study with  blind shutters,

I can hear raindrops searching for a dry land.

Falling, tapping, dying, ing, ing, ing…

MY RIGHT HAND

knows

how to wipe away a tear

from a kid’s face

good at handful

taking

clenches

the small fist

hearing white

hoof  of anger

sometimes

salty

as if somebody

sprinkled

tears on it

can  prevent  eyes

from being

cried out

has hollow gestures

down pat

right

missing hand

LILLA LATUS