VALERIE VARGAS
[I keep a terrarium of small eyes]
I keep a terrarium of small eyes,
they water themselves, glossed over marbles, slip
between the fingertips like seaweed.
Memories and dreams keep the same structure:
an arboretum.
Yesterday the flowers looked different.
Today they try to stop me from telling truths
like a poet does, untruths, who knows no mercy.
Poets are liars, like me, all I’ve seen is real flowers.
I wanted to give one day to remembering.
I sprouted the wings of a dragonfly and fled
through the air unfurling the clouds like a gutted eel.
––––
Delirium
I sleep on the mall bench with strangers
I sleep in the car off the highway
looking for a job a new job
I am wondering where the doctor is
drifting in and out of delirium
a twilight sleep
a twilight sleep by sedation
It is midday and sleep is coming
I do not recognize the crows on the shelf
Or the blue eyes behind the light veil
My hands are numb but it's supposed
to be my noxious mouth
We’ve waited too long probably
too long for the healing to be painless
––––
Valerie is a Venezuelan American poet and bookmaker from Hallandale Beach, Florida. She earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Notre Dame and is a recipient of the Samuel and Mary Ann Hazo Award for Poetry.