Infamous famous
just another day in this moulding city
sitting between aseptic blue
row on row of the naked tube tattooed infamous for the day headlines say
naked me they could see but I dreamed my limbs dressed and pure
robed in gold sturdy my chest embraced my dignity best
Warrior-old famous down to the soul I waged a regal war
free to do as I ruled among metal city where my feet are dignified with dirt
and heroes shit
—
Out
Last summer
he left at siesta time
when the air puffs clouds of steam
the city floats and
dead flowers dream
astonished insects bang around and
no one sees nobody
sins are dormant.
His mouth full of words
he left the bed
unmade pillows, repentance ruffled, dragging a duffle bag
back leaving a grubby trail.
—
Thriller frills
Crumpled brown bags. Cigarette packs blown in. Street Lamp corner. Jazz monologue. White drizzled black. Heels soundtrack. Moist fog-rain. Debris swiped again. Flaked marble. Sinking grey. Doorknob. Curtain twitch. Heap pushed against a wall. Torn silver dribbling blood.
—
Summer water
a jug of red
wine boiled in summer
glasses glazed
hovering over an open book
spreading those words beyond the page
fuck them
whilst a shadow overlooks
—
Wartime
rural piece
no-body in land
piled logs nesting neat
against farmhouse walls
tilled fields under
tilted sun empties
breach of those
who have done their labour
hung up their tools and quietly left
a land barren unchanged forever
missing a conversation
—
© María C. Domínguez
Maria Castro Dominguez was born in London. Written books of poetry including “Four Hands” (A Cuatro Manos) and prologue in Jacobo Valcárcel’s new poetry book “Escondite Mágico”. Contributed in several newspapers and magazines, including “Blaze Vox” “women’s Weekly” “Retort”, “The Argotist” and “Message in a Bottle”. Lover of words and languages. Philologist and teacher.
