ditch,

the poetry that matters

Claudia D. Hernández

Claudia D. Hernández was born and raised in Guatemala. She is a photographer, poet, and a bilingual educator in the Los Angeles area. Her photography, poetry, and prose have been published in The Indigenous Sovereignty Issue of The Peak, Hinchas de Poesía, Nineteen-Sixty-Nine: A Journal of Ethnic Studies (UC Berkeley), Kalyani Magazine, Blood Lotus Journal, REDzine, among others. Claudia is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing for Young Adults with an emphasis in Poetry at Antioch University, Los Angeles.

  

Please don’t kill yourself.

 

I had a dream where you came to my

apartment and knocked on my door.

 

I saw you through the window watching

with misty eyes, how the jornaleros,

hired from the sidewalks of Home Depot,

tore apart apartment C, across from me.

 

You stood there in the middle of the

ruins admiring the act of destruction.

 

With a Francis Bacon-like face, melted,

you turned your attention to your bike,

parked upside down. The back wheel

kept spinning on its own accord;

 

I decided not to open my door.

 

 

ma

 

We are apart:

 the walls

tremble.

 

There is no distance,

between the silence

and the thumping

of the mind.

         

 

Everything collapsed

I am nothing left

but dust and stone

buried beneath

your wounding tone.

 

 

jumelle

 

:trapa era eW

sllaw eht

.elbmert

 

,ecnatsid on si erehT

ecnelis eht neewteb

gnipmuht eht dna

.dnim eht fo

 

 

despalloc gnihtyrevE

tfel gnihton era ouy

enots dna tsud tub

htaened deirub

.enot gnidnuow ruoy

 

Violeta ausente

 

the sky

 

slithers

 

searching         for

 

green,        frozen,

 

           mountain.s

 

 

transforming moon,

 

delivers:

 

      silent      music,

 

broken            truth.

 

  

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                                                                                                              March 19, 2013