eChapbooks | Kudzu House Quarterly

Bright as Mirrors Left in the Grass

Poems by Luisa A. Igloria



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Cover Art by Sean Abrahams



Author Biography


Issue 5-1, eChapbook (Series Number 1)
Autumnal Equinox: 20 March 2015

Hunger: A zuihitsu


How long does the heart hold in its knotted-up angers? Five bitter knobs of green plum
on a plate, to dip in salt.

*
The taste of glutamates and nucleotides. In other words, what’s savory stands
out from a background— gash of seawater in a runnel of sand.

*

Chilled water in a metal cup. The white flesh of a coconut, young flag swirling to
the bottom.

*

What is the condition of wanting something you have no name for yet? I scanned the
grocery store shelves, the produce bins— and registered only the color green.

*
My love dropped a rind, a disc of volatile oils, into the broth. Far away, a hundred
mouths opened in an orchard awash with amber.

*

Some days, I feel as though I skim only the surface. There are so many things to mend,
to read, to wash, to pay.

*

I stacked loose granite slates against the rotted wood of the shed. Before they took
them away, the animals had made a bed in one corner, and left their
droppings in another.

*

Is it my imagination when I say I remember the way water, soup, cold milk
coursed down my throat— to flood the ducts ending at my nipples, positioned in my
nursing daughter’s mouth?

*

We did not see how the moon hung larger than a hive, a paper lantern, a
parchment dish. And yet we ate from it nightly.

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