Issue 29 | Spring 2022


               I wonder where I can get some good sweet flowers. Who will I ask? Let me
               ask the quetzal hummingbird, the jade hummingbird. Let me ask the troupial
                                                                                                       —Cantares Mexicanos

When you close your wings or when they break
in two across the hinge, make opaque shadows
among the stems. Sky lit as if to spark
again until the day is full of echoes.

Familiar shade, we’ve never met like this
but look at how the years have brought us to
a moment we’d forgotten. Reminisce
in orange. We turn so that our point of view

reflects some other place, some other story.
At times, we feel the same as everyone else
except for an unspoken sort of worry.
A gut-check cringe away from hope—a taste
laid wide against the tongue that I can’t swallow—
and you’ve already flown the paths I follow.

Filed under: Poetry

Elijah Mendoza is a Mexican American poet living in Long Beach, California. He has taught at George Washington University, Baylor University, Tarrant County College, and and Texas Christian University. His poems have appeared in various journals such as the Rio Grande Review, New Mexico Review, Broadkill Review, and the Anthology of Tennessee poets. He’s interested in exploring traditional verse through contemporary language and subject matter. He’s always loved a well written sonnet.