en

Elisa Díaz Castelo

  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    The war ended

    depending on which war you mean
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    There are wildflowers in my desert

    which take up to twenty years to bloom.
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    Until then, we touch our bodies like wounds—

    the war never ended and somehow begins again
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    This could be a story from the Bible,

    if it wasn’t already a story about stars
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    Let me call my anxiety, desire, then.

    Let me call it, a garden.

    Maybe this is what Lorca meant

    when he said, verde que te quiero verde—

    because when the shade of night comes,

    I am a field of it, of any worry ready to

    [flower in my chest.
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    Insomnia is like spring that way—surprising

    and many petaled,

    the kick and leap of gold grasshoppers at my brow.

    I am struck in the witched hours of want—

    I want her green life. Her inside me

    in a green hour I can’t stop.
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    All my loves

    are reparations loves
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    What is loneliness if not unimaginable

    light and measured in lumens—
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    am doing my best to not become a museum

    of myself. I am doing my best to breathe in and out.

    I am begging: Let me be lonely but not invisible.
  • irene. 🌤️has quotedlast year
    I am less than myself. Only a fraction

    of a body, let’s say, I am only a hand—

    and when I slip it beneath the shirt of my lover

    I disappear completely.
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