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March 21, 2018 / barton smock



PLEASE check out previous contributor Marisol Baca‘s book, Tremor, here:


Marisol Baca, from volume second of {isacoustic*}:

The Ditch

Uncle Albert left their chihuahua
in the Corrales ditch,
when he came upon her dead.
A little thing like that, and mostly blind,
she had wandered and followed the smell of water;
the tiny dog heard the water even if
the ditch had been dry for years.
But Albert, who had two girls at home waiting,
turned and walked away.

I remember that chihuahua sitting on my cousin’s lap.
Turning her head to the side,
sniffing the thick smell of alfalfa.
Uncle Albert smoked a joint in the backyard,
and I saw hundreds of white sparks fall.

Later, a ditch filled with dead wood and leaves,
the dog lying on her side. My cousin sentinelled
over her like an overgrown thistle.


Canto I

Lend me your ear…

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