Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal


The Minimal

Go toward the minimal.
Crawl through tiny doors.
The exits will be holes
where most movement
is impossible. But as you
are near the outside
you will know it is possible.



The Move 

The squirrels are conversing
with the pepper tree.
They are about to move away.
The squirrels fancy the neighbors’
fruit trees. They find it more
appealing. They were quiet
about the move. I heard the tree
gossiping before they left.
The squirrels ceased to speak
with the pepper tree and vanished
one day for good. It was at night.
I heard it from the wind, which
heard it from the pepper tree.
No longer close, the pepper tree
missed the squirrels. No one knows
if the squirrels will return or
if their move was permanent.
I left some nuts and water in the yard
just in case they returned and
were hungry or thirsty.  Their move
was nevertheless surprising.
Their presence is missed.
We continue without them
and wish them good journey.
We have lived weeks without seeing
them. The pepper tree never
seemed so quiet. Once the squirrels
left it seems to be in mourning.
Life is meaningless when it feels
like we have been left behind.



Aquarium Tongues

Aquarium tongues
get along swimmingly.
Low flying birds wish
to walk with their beaks.

Two-headed snakes
plot to eat Medusa’s eyes.
Blank pages seek an
artist’s colorful touch.

Motionless butterfly
perfected camouflaging.
Black pigeons swarm to
graffiti paradise city.

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles since the late 90s. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Escape Into Life, Mad Swirl, Otoliths, and Unlikely Stories. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press in 2020.

 
 

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