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| NAYA VALDELLON |
| Evasions |
| THE AUTHOR HOLDS THE COPYRIGHT TO THIS POEM. THIS IS POSTED WITH PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR. |
| THIS IS PART OF THE LITERATURA READING SERIES | CLICK HERE TO GO BACK TO LITERATURA |
| I am good at dodging questions, letting them melt
like ice cubes in beer I prefer dark and frothy. Between gulps, what I serve up is the truth diluted. Because one night, my friend—drunk on something more inflammable than sadness— kissed a bruise on my wrist. His lips on the blue mouthed I wish—a plea answered the next day with forgetfulness, which also means the best for you. Too many amber bottles have refracted the hues of my honesties. When I volunteer my heart’s latest foibles, it is less an act of trust than self-preservation, a need for custodians— whether or not you will keep my stories static. If you must have a reason, let it be the key I kept in my pocket after moving. The old house had turned foreign months later. Garage lights winked at this would-be culprit who need not climb over the new tenant’s gate. I stood there, half-wanting the lock not to give in to the key’s prodding, the other half looking for anyone to toast this unquenchable thirst for intrusion. This poem is part of the collection that won Second Prize for Poetry in the 2005 Palanca Awards |