MIGRATORY SOUND
it may have been a bone stuck in the throat
a painting of a meadow dead animals on
the road begin to change the way color
dims you from a place language practiced
without a terrain to think abstractly of one’s
body tracing north to south and back again
MOMENT TO MOMENT
a dark stain on the ceiling
appears in a way that the perceiver
too becomes a symbol
its presence colors out
where violet weeds grow near an underpass
I watch my daughter by the road
with a different sense
of violence
the way a cloud when depicted
on the television appears small in its detachment
from reality to want in that space
to know a figure
in its harmless entirety
Sara Lupita Olivares is the author of the chapbook Field Things (dancing girl press). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Denver Quarterly, The Pinch, Apogee, Columbia Poetry Review, and elsewhere. Currently, she lives in Michigan where she is a Ph.D. student at Western Michigan University, and a poetry editor for Third Coast Magazine.
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