Adela NAJARRO, Spring 2019
After the soldiers left
bullet holes and torn mattresses,
after iguanas ran off with the sun,
after pericos emerged violently squawking,
after the dictator collected
music boxes and skulls,
a song rose from the stink
of a river festering yellow mud
where one eye of a crocodile
watched you, I, we, todos
break bones, break bodies.
I want to tell you about after,
how bones knit, courage rises,
and we stave off despair.
Once in that country filled with mango trees,
where sharks live in fresh water,
where monkeys are kept on leashes,
where the ice cream is salty,
el ministro de Cultura issued
a call to language
as action, a call to write poems
about ordinary objects
and Exteriorismo began stirring
a pot of beans, adding
oil and then left over rice,
to make gallo pinto. A plain dish
that Danny likes, a child, our child,
here in the States with Nica blood.
Poems are his legacy,
along with a lava-filled past
that percolated a revolution
of sound, vida, and ranas,
ranitas, little froggies on a farm
on the road to Momotombo.
My mother’s words
explode volcanic vowels.
¡Ay! ¡Cómo queman!
The slow burn down
the side of a mountain
with its top blown off.
Nature on fire. Poetry
a living thing.
Adele Najarro is the author of two poetry collections, Split Geography, Twice Told Over, and a chapbook, My Childrens, which includes teaching resources for high school and college classrooms. Najarro's poetry appears in the University of Arizona Press anthology The Wind Shifts: New Latino Poetry, and she has published poems in numerous journals, including Porter Gulch Review, Acentos Review, BorderSenses, Feminist Studies, Puerto del Sol, Nimrod International Journal of Poetry & Prose, Notre Dame Review, Blue Mesa Review, Crab Orchard Review, and elsewhere. More information about Adele can be found here: www.adelanajarro.com.