They call the mountain Carlos because
it is brown, although its purple slopes
at dusk suggest other names.
-Ray Gonzalez
Papi, grapefruit, anchor—every
week Carlos come with gifts
in his dirty white sedan.
He text from unknown
numbers. Some weeks tall
other weeks not. Carlos
bury mice in the woods
goes careful with their
brittle tails. Carlos dig
holes the size of his fist—
Daddy to the land also.
Brown mud, the rocks the river soften
and the river also. Rock
also. Boot crunch. River
of ice the bridge cross
and the bridge also.
Kind of togetherness
we make w/ desire
to lose our voice
to the river. Hum
tenderness
to the edge where listening
is no longer possible—
go beyond it.
from Poetry Northwest 13.1 Summer & Fall 2018More by Oliver Baez Bendorf from the library
Copyright © Oliver Baez Bendorf
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.