Two Poems

Luisa Igloria

At night, the sky's a parasol studded with points—

Its steel ribs retract, taking the woman’s earrings,
her filigreed comb, the agate necklace
which she hung from a cloud’s lowest branches.

Her arms grow heavy, so heavy, oh.

White and yellow gold fly into the air like chaff.
Little broken teeth, the grains of new-husked rice,
smile from the bottom of her mortar.

The soles of her feet, so dusty, oh.

Her fingers trail in the shallows, measuring
the depth of water. What vanishes is simply
another kind of form.

***

Parable of the Fish

A bitter heart, a few little fires
abroad in the countryside. The skeleton
of a life shaved down, both bait and
barb. So here is the fisherman
who never caught a thing, having moonlit
conversation in the reeds. She
is covered with scales and sinuous
as brocade. She listens
but will not grant
a mansion for his wife.
His hair is fading to the color of sea-cells.
Maybe he will cross the river tomorrow.
Maybe he will beg a boon.
Maybe he will take her back
and hide her raincoat in the garage
among the power tools and
rusted lawnmowers.

Luisa A. Igloria (previously published as Maria Luisa Aguilar-Cariño) is a poet and professor, and Director of the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University. Her work has appeared or will be forthcoming in numerous anthologies and journals including Poetry, Crab Orchard Review, The Missouri Review, Indiana Review, Poetry East, Sweet, qarrtsiluni, poemeleon, Smartish Pace, Natural Bridge, Rattle, The North American Review, Bellingham Review, Shearsman (UK), PRISM International (Canada), Poetry Salzburg Review (Austria), The Asian Pacific American Journal, and TriQuarterly. Luisa has previously published nine books including Encanto (Anvil, 2004), In the Garden of the Three Islands (Moyer Bell/Asphodel, 1995), and Trill & Mordent (WordTech Editions, 2005).  Her website may be viewed at www.luisaigloria.com.

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