by Eugenia Pozas

i’m always chronically late,
even to my own thoughts and feelings.
when i first saw my husband’s desk,
his stationery was all in order,
pen perpendicularly aligned
with the pages and its corners.
he never imagined it quite like this:
wind scattering papers and clips,
vines shattering the windows,
a blooming, green storm.
or maybe that’s why he wanted me,
fruit-scented and alive like a bonfire,
i saw in him dreams of copper,
the last rays of madness ascending,
and for weeks after i was gone
the hounds barked at nothing,
and he would sit in his quiet office,
eyes searching for me in all the hollows.
now spring has closed its mouth shut.

it’s no wonder the trees shake like candles,
no wonder he’s so rattled:
i’m coming.

Eugenia Pozas is a bilingual writer based in Monterrey, Mexico. Her first poetry collection in Spanish – Náufragos (Castaways) – was published in 2022 with 42 Líneas. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Dust Poetry Magazine, The Basilisk Tree, Kaleidotrope, Sontag Mag, and Crowstep Journal. You can find her on Instagram and X as @eugepozas.