TIME’S ARROW, Wendi White

Time's Arrow
by Wendi White

After Piedra de Sol

I search for an instant alive as a bird,
through which I can fly beyond
the courtyard of climbing vines,
the fig tree bursting, the pomegranate
bending with its orbs, the nightshade’s
perfume blooming trails behind me,
leaving wisps of mystery on the cobblestones,
until I walk the Avenue of the Dead
bedazzled by glancing light and shadow
by the sun of five in the afternoon
by the temples of sun and moon
repeating Popocatpetl’s pose beside
his lost love, the princess, who lays
sleeping while he smolders with rage
over the valley he would not recognize

The push of people between the stalls
of vendors selling tacos and bootleg music,
Rolex rip-offs and mangos impaled on bamboo
topped with chili, dressed with lime, the juice
runs down my chin, dripping into gutters
that lead to the remnants of Lake Texacoco
which surrounded Tenoctitlan when Cortez
was ferried across its waters but now
is circumscribed by undulating crowds,
snaking streets, thrusting towers,
frantic pesaros, circling and circling,
consuming, discharging their human
fodder, never ending, never beginning
throbbing with life,
snapping time’s arrow,
setting me free, alive as a bird.
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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