Deborah Paredez

When the forsaken city starts to burn, after the men and children have fled, stand still, silent as prey, and slowly turn back. Behold the curse. Stay and mourn the collapsing doorways, the unbroken bread in the forsaken city starting to burn. Don’t flinch. Don’t join in. Resist the righteous scurry and instead stand still, silent as prey. Slowly turn your thoughts away from escape: the iron gates unlatched, the responsibilities shed. When the forsaken city starts to burn, surrender to your calling, show concern for those who remain. Come to a dead standstill. Silent as prey, slowly turn into something essential. Learn the names of the fallen. Refuse to run ahead when the forsaken city starts to burn. Stand still and silent. Pray. Return.

All morning my daughter pleading, outside outside. By noon I kneel to button her coat, tie the scarf to keep her hood in place. This is her first snow so she strains against the ritual, spooked silent then whining, restless under each buffeting layer, uncertain how to settle into this leashing. I manage at last to tunnel her hands into mittens and she barks and won’t stop barking, her hands suddenly paws. She is reduced to another being, barking, barking all day in these restraints. For days after, she howls into her hands, the only way she tells me she wants out.

You’re flush with hearts and I’m forced to fold this hand and swear off another luckless match. How we’ve found ways to love each other, cajoled our cindered hearts, flushed and forced to fold upon themselves like Saint Valentine ensouled with seizure, skin a whirring bee swarm, a hatched flush of doves. My heart, how I’m forced to fold my hands in prayer for another struck match.

When no one else would listen, Saint Anthony preached seaward, his words fishnet for the lost souls of the heretics. Caught up in despair, we plea to the one who will listen: Saint Anthony, please return Tía’s teeth or the misplaced key to our bolted hopes. Patron retriever of all we’ve tossed when no one else would. Listen, Saint Anthony, teach us to steward this world, all our netted loss.

The day upturned, flooded with sunlight, not a single cloud. I squint into the glare, cautious even then of bright emptiness. We sit under shade, Tía Lucia showing me how white folks dine,the high life. I am about to try my first oyster, Tía spending her winnings from the slots on a whole dozen, the glistening valves wet and private as a cheek’s other side, broken open before us.Don’t be shy. Take it all in at once. Flesh and sea grit, sweet meat and brine, a taste I must acquire. In every split shell, the coast’s silhouette: bodies floating in what was once their home.

1996 i. here: our forsaken home mesa breaks desert dialing curve of mountain territory of anthropology of the outlaw where you taught me how to shoot that .22 real good rifle butt steadied against the shoulder socket a wild pulsing third arm postures of stillness and reserve practiced cunning of the predator in the end         shattered bottles among cowering piñones here: the natives have never been safe ii. curious sentimental boy intent on the romance of expedition clever cynical woman intent on the Romantic trope mi cielo mi mar mi luna mi tierra language of Spanish occupation diligent engineers we divide and enter mapping for future travels the sheets marked, desk cluttered: pencil shavings graphs incomplete stanzas metaphors and equations of isolated fixed points like Malinches we are left harboring the remains of one another's labor iii. la migra       your mind skilled at expulsion vigilant surveillance those refused entry interest me those forced to settle elsewhere ours is a patrolled encounter my mind is what interests you creases of cerebrum     electric streams coursing through these fissures a landscape ripe for excavation you are brother to Isabella in devices and commands always the agenda the missionary plans and like the others you will insist on exile and I am no Circe no magical powers no victim of narrative just a woman with these few words a woman who has peered through the barrel of a loaded gun leaving nothing intact