Sara Lupita Olivares

Summer 2024 | Poetry

Three Poems

Alizarin, Root

 

agate, moss edge where earth rises and falls, sandstone color

 

smoke clears the air, tar waterway, mallow flower, I undo the thought

deep carmine, one runs the risk of finding only the nonexistent

leaves picked bare; the calf’s bones tinted rose pink roots soaked

your hair dark, deep in the river ruby shadow of sumac return again

arid grass, wind weak, unnoticeable what might misguide itself hourless

 


Al Norte

radial grasses, the sideways point of intersection where sound will bare deep

 

between trees, the shape: vault

mirroring, orbits

at sides

 

*

 

 

uncombed, one coordinate will confirm the other

midnight, mother and child climb upward becoming brighter

nameless sky, sacred matted fur in gravel

to move across we doubt symbol from placement

mountain charred, this sound you make

devastated, circled around

 

 

*

 

 

nova, what journey did it take

gems carved ways of seeing

 

maybe you have mistaken a place, disregarded an instance for another


Reweaving

figures appear near vanishing how do you reconcile violence

atmosphere obverse, did you at times become fragile

even if only a screen, dimensionless outline, air patterned through

sinuous wolf lichen grows in tendrils similar to the body resembling

atmosphere obverse, did you at times become fragile

deep green I knew to close my eyes, far north, further

sinuous wolf lichen grows in tendrils similar to the body resembling

two women interposed, dresses opened, translucent gaze

 

deep green I knew to close my eyes, far north, further

circled back, the animal coerced withdraws, grows lost

two women interposed, dresses opened, translucent gaze

understood disappearance as a tonality, iridescence, flushed tracks

 

circled back, the animal coerced withdraws, grows lost

wave, waveless lake, I forget each particular now

understood disappearance as a tonality, iridescence, flushed tracks

looked out again and saw a pattern of clouds, brackish, lit into

Sara Lupita Olivares is the author of Migratory Sound (The University of Arkansas Press), which was selected as winner of the CantoMundo Poetry Prize, and the chapbook Field Things. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The New York Times, Black Warrior Review, Salt Hill Journal, Fugue, The Colorado Review, and elsewhere. She lives in the Midwest and is an assistant professor of English at the University of Illinois Springfield.

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