Poetry » Valentina Cano »

A Drowning

This could not be heavier
if you forced it.
Three seconds,
bogged down by soggy thoughts,
are like stones in my pocket,
forcing me down,
so that the only things visible,
the only things I’ll ever be
remembered for,
are the bubbles of air
dying in the sun.


He thought he was dreaming,
that moment when the light
shone through the curtains
against the wall,
pierced through by pieces of her.
A hologram of caramels,
a cat’s cradle of hair and skin,
coming together in that spot
where she slammed her hand
the night before.
Her presence lingered
like a thread of hair,
shimmering visible,
then disappearing.

First Day of Summer

That morning,
when the sky darkened
with ink leaking from my pen,
I didn’t know what I’d do.
Days elongated until I was looking
at a hallway of sealed doors,
each as chilly as the next.
The sun,
wrapped in the violent sky,
I tried to make a hole in the darkness,
in the silence,
but all I got was a fistful of static.

Morning’s Choice

She warns her to look away.
To peel eyelashes off the surfaces
they’ve caressed and marked
(fossils on a pillow).
She tells her to shift skin like a quilt,
right off the bed in a tumble.
Bu she won’t listen,
or at least not now
when it means losing another limb
or perhaps another sliver of voice.
Time binds her and leads her on,
pulsing brilliant like a sun,
yet warming nothing.