Poem by Naomi Ayala

Poverty
from Wild Animals on the Moon
​
It gives you pigeon eyes, makes you
brave as a cracked slate
with all the weight of a house on top.

It bids you
hold out your quaky hand
through bittersweet temptations.

You dream of it as slick
silvery fish between your hands
wide-eyed and breathless
but it circles your bleeding
feet like sharks.

At evening time
between lampposts and garbage
drums turned over in the wind
poverty is black ice
or a train whose departure you miss
whistling at you in the distance.

Your will is chalky on your tongue
like aspirin
and patience hangs like frayed
dreads down your back.

Morning bends
the scalpel-sharp pain
in the ribcage,
love’s sulfur-dazed eyes.

Two teabags in your wallet
for when the day is done 
and poverty at your feet 
like a hungry dog
laps up the sweat of your calves.

You come and go not speaking
fumbling for a ripcord
through a thousand leagues of wild wind.

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Naomi Ayala is the author of three books of poetry. Her most recent, Calling Home: Praise Songs and Incantations, was published by Bilingual Press/Editorial Bilingüe. She’s also the translator of one novel and a poetry collection. She lives in Washington, DC.

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