My sister, my phantom limb, I reach for her
on the 747 to Paris and shut off the console
light so she can shoot safety-deposit-box
portraits and ferry them back across Atlantic
to bins with vinegary chemical baths, emulsions
on the knoll, devoid of ocular rove, she has an eye
like pindrop mechanism, earrings of revolvers, and
sneakers of limited edition chevre leather.
In Paris you want to eat pears by the river
cut with the pocketknife I am going to buy
you sometime soon, sometime after knowing you
buy your first real pair of boots, ostriche
cognac boots, the kind of boots you want to
take with you to Jujuy or Salta or Death Valley
after getting a sharp scholarship on photography
of the happenstance, and you find yourself in Paris
wanting to treat yourself to a pair of boots to last a life.
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.