From Cynthia Cruz:
Praying
Sometimes a thrasher
Enters the maelstrom.
Sometimes I remember
My brother
Before the accident.
Hiding mother's bottles in the cold blue snow.
In the distance, the house is
Fracturing. In the bedroom, the walls are
Red with racing tigers and the door is
Always locked.
Inside the ice storm, my brother
Made the sky small, again.
*
Siberia
Already, the dream tigers have arrived.
Striped and enormous, as always.
When you vanish in the maze of silver cypress,
Let the mallow-white
Ink take the quiet
Of your mind.
Let the river
Kill the blossom.
He who hurt you once,
Shall now be put to rest.
I will find him, I will
Waste him in my own sweet way.
If I can, I will
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