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Rosa Alcalá

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Rosa Alcalá

Rosa Alcalá is a poet and translator from Paterson, New Jersey. Her most recent book of poems is MyOTHER TONGUE (Futurepoem, 2017). She lives in El Paso, Texas, where she teaches in the bilingual MFA in creative writing program at the University of Texas at El Paso.

by this poet

(for Sergio Mondragón)

The body's hidden face
removed of its excesses
is cooked into a codex
that reads:          
this little piggy went to market            
this little piggy piled high
what's meant by surface.
Everywhere a nation awaits, 
a cardboard

She tosses a bolt of fabric into the air. Hill country, prairie, a horse trots there. I say three yards, and her eyes say more: What you need is guidance, a hand that can zip a scissor through cloth. What you need is a picture of what you've lost. To double the width against the window for the gathering, consider


Why the image just now of a bullet entering the mouth? Why call it raw, when it isn’t sticky and pink like a turkey meatball, just the usual: gold, and shiny, and cylindrical? What about this bullet is uncooked? Why does it multiply with you in parka or short skirt, versions of the you that you were, swallowing raw