Poetry Showcase: Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal (March 2023)

What is its Name?

A shadow is a shadow
but what is its name?
I call mine Bubba Ho-Tep
like that Bruce Campbell film.

A cloud is a cloud,
but what is its name?
The one above me I have
named Predator 2.

What would you call those
spy balloons over North
America? I call each one
The Spy Who Loved Me.

I feel so deflated some
days that I do not have
the mind coordination
to come up with any name. 

August 4, 1993: The Ryan Express vs. Robin Ventura

What were you
thinking, Robin
Ventura, charging 
the Ryan Express
after being hit
by a pitch? If not,
for that charge
to the mound,
my brother Juan
would not have
made that frame,
the photo cut
out from the sports
page. Ryan had
you in a headlock 
with his fist about
to give you one
of the many noogies
you received that
fateful night that
would be celebrated 
for years. Google
it if you never seen it.
We have the fight
framed for posterity.
You never got a punch
in, Robin, but that
took guts going after
the 46-year-old legend,
20 years your senior,
whose punch was just 
as fierce as his fastball.
To add insult to injury,
Ryan stayed in the game
while you were ejected. 

The Moon is Dying

“The moon is dying,”
she says to me.
“It will come back
tomorrow,” she adds

I said to her, “Did you
know the wind was
dying too?” I then said,
“The wind is also
coming back.”

She looked at me
and sighed, “Wow,
my sighs are coming
back too. I can’t
recall my last sigh.”

I told her, “Did you
notice the grass is
dying?” She said,
“That’s okay. At least
you are saving water.”

“Of all the dying
things, I would miss
most, it would be
the moon,” she said,
sighing two times.

The Place I Was Born

As long as my memory
remains intact I will not
forget about the place
I was born, where I was
raised by my abuelos,
Elpidio y Florencia. I
learned so much from
my mother’s parents.
I would only see them
one more time after 1975.
It was the summer of 1978
when I last stepped in the
land of my birth. I left a
life behind to live a new
life in California with my
parents and siblings. I
remember crying at 18
years old upon hearing of
my abuelo’s death. Did
I break his heart when
I left him and my abuela?
They were always with me.
I did not know it then. 

Interesting Shrub

Twilight was no apparition.
Sunrise was no illusion.
I shared my lens with the trees,
the hard cement, and the bees.
The ancients gods were a myth.
The thunder disagreed as it
roared beyond the clouds.

I felt a drop of rain.
Snow was too far away.
I could see it high up
in the hillside mountains.

I felt the cool, crisp air.
My lens captured the leaves
but not myself. Camera-shy,
I opted to film the arteries
of an interesting shrub.

The sky was all ablaze.
Suddenly, twilight came.
The trees spoke to me
about the black sky coming.

Bio: Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Fevers of the Mind, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, and Venus in Scorpio Poetry Ezine.  

all drawings from Luis as well.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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