Issue 4 Cover_final_web Poecology

Issue 4



Michelle Donahue


A Poem for Luis II

He said, ants bite and this vine
brings poison to touch. Now stop.
We stood in the ruins of El
Mirador. I lost without him.

He tended the bar in a
Princeton shirt, less than
a dollar from Santa Elena.
He wanted to be a mechanic.
In jungle humidity, almost
like breathing underwater,
the way moisture sticks within.

He kept chickens. The birds
eat then me
. He meant
money. His shirt ballooned
around his ribs.
Don’t you smell? Monkeys.
Close, just from sight.

I gave him a book, the only
one I brought in Spanish.
He was right. Howlers
perched, slow, unlike the
leathery spider monkeys
A whole family, or more.

When I left he thanked me
many times for my book.
those words, that precious
fantasy. I wish I had more.