from Unknowne Land
by Elena Rivera

Glowing embers
yield up so much.
The figure leans forward.
I am that figure, elbow
down on the desk, full
of North wind; a figure
shown, shorn, fastened
to too many voices.
a burnt child dreads the fire
Behind the framework
a body retreats and then
again catapulted forward–
into a lament, pulled into
the rhythm of the pencil
as it adheres to the page, in
the quivering cold wind,
fastening the flame to the glass.

What to do with a red child,
scribbled on a piece of paper?
In the interval, between childhood
and when the figure was clothed.
The moment midway (putting
on the bra), halfway (pulling up
the underwear), between being nude
and clothed. A private space
set burning. Closed and nude.
where there is much light
the shadows are deepest
Between what you need
and what she needs (intense,
turbulent, furious, destructive).
I step into the room. I am stepping
into, step in. Ruins at the border.
I follow the glimpse, the 'almost'.

Scarlet, rubiate, sanguine, carmine.
not as honest with myself as I
Simulate a tale, a way out
of the cinders (where she was
headed), full of expectations,
in her superimposed box.
She puts on her uniform,
white shirt, gray skirt,
dark blue pullover.
a torn limb held out toward the sun
She speaks in another language.
I confused her movements with
the space around her. I tried to
follow her, an intervention of the
alternate line; I tried to live her
secrets, her fantasy, even though
it came hard (hearing).

Created! Gleaming! Glowing!
the liberating scream
Captive. She finds her notes
are connected by a bind. She
hovers over the debris. Cut and
fastened in a conch–confined
to the limits given (not her own)
a piece of (through a grid)
W. . . W. . . Wo. . .
a wide open mouth with no sound
She is gone–
Spread wide for idolaters:
Daughter of ‘man’
sculptured, taken, chosen. Am I
suitably shaped to generate?
(the sound of the land) to create?
(the sound) Where can I find her?