In k’áatech
after Silvia Moreno-Garcia
If the god of death falls in love with you
across a journey over jungle and desert—
if he must return to the land of the dead,
will he wait until you gasp your last breath
on Earth? Does the god of death embrace
you, then hold your hand to the ember
of his heart before accompanying you
through his lusciously macabre kingdom?
Roses of hell, silver volcano flowers—
sprout and bloom wooden as you walk
the obsidian road to Xibalba. You have longed
for this since that night in the ocean,
when his immortality was on the table,
and a life with him was a possibility.
Tell him the secret name for him you have cradled
in your chest—one you have called out when the stars
flickered like fireflies. There must be some enchantment
in the underworld that allows you to finally become lovers.
Natural Disasters
Sevgilim, I haven’t heard from you since your birthday, after you said we should write
to each other more often. I remember the warmth of reading your words, how sweet fondness can feel like a caress on the cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind
an ear. Or holding hands on a moonlit night at the lake during midsummer.
Sevgilim, I let time pass between us, and now I wonder if the earthquake
has taken you. I think of the well wishes I could’ve sent over the last four months.
I picture them as sparklers tucked into a gold lined envelope. We are beyond sealing
anything with a kiss, just the mist of memories—bouquets of admiration and kindness for our current lives. How different they are from fourteen years ago.
Sevgilim, in the days of silence—I have held my worries closely to my chest.
I have tried not to think about how October might have been our last conversation;
how I might never smile at the news of you and your family again. I will confess
in these last few days I have thought: What if?
Sevgilim, I imagine a future where you and I hold hands, and embrace once again.
We are old and gray—drinking coffee seaside, the sun sets in luscious pinks and violet, brazen reds. Here is contentment: we reminisce about the summer we spent tangled together near London, the paths life took us, how we are able to have one more
goodbye.
Marisa Silva-Dunbar’s work has been published in Querencia Press’s Winter 2023 Anthology, Not Ghosts, But Spirits Vol. 2, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, ArLiJo and Variety Pack Magazine. Her second chapbook, “When Goddesses Wake,” was released in December, 2021 from Maverick Duck Press. Her first full-length collection, “Allison,” was published by Querencia Press in 2022. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @thesweetmaris. To check out more of her work go to www.marisasilvadunbar.com
Chantarelle's Notebook 