two poems
by Marisela Zamora
I used to have this idea about a man living
in a vast countryside home with his pregnant
wife or maybe the kid actually here outside flesh
and he’d be standing dark in a kitchen scrounging
the fridge although daylight and a bug grazing
his scabs strobing lights lighting some cold cuts
he’d take out a milk jug remembering the last
time he thought of his gram was also this bent
position but now his thought shifted to ah shit
no milk and oddly this was an okay setting for a
story but as I was writing I knew I wasn’t
built for fiction the really scary part I don’t like
having a boss though maybe some rules please
me so I’ll tell you the rest as he goes out for
milk screaming this action his wife asks to bring
back baby-related things and Now he’s pissed
so i was workshopping A barking dog dreaming
a French villa Because that’s how he responds
to language far away from here where we are
surrounded by the likes of Nation's Best Felatio
Stand or pamphlets making you aware of some
awareness like the elderly being prescribed
NARCAN with their OXY and I really thought
I did a great job creating a nuanced character
like real fathers desperate for something to run
with so he did so slamming the screen
door knowing cries follow dirt trails
moved his feet dragging the only thought He
thought over the course of some time. Like
objects held then thrown. More so than anyone,
I can believe in that.
In the empty side
I am almost awake
Medium-grip on some
media mail
Nibbling on torn fibers
( ouch)
Selfless you, you
Orange finch I
Sit in a blaze—stand on a
moon blazing warless
waters
Victorian oppression
I woke one day, slurring
In the empty
I’m like uh—orange finch, ha.
No in this side
I can be like something I am
I could capture
somewhere to gag Edwardian-like
stop crawling
Soon and skittish when awake
One day slurring I am
almost to this
orange finch. Smells like
church in here and Yellow
Is today too.
Photo of Marisela Zamora
BIO: Marisela Zamora (Mari) is a writer. Look for her poems in Pictura Journal, JEAN SALAD, Expat Press, Do Not Submit!, Hobart Pulp, and Sunflower Station Press.