Carlos Sirah

Ghost Leg

When your leg was still your leg
and not a ghost leg
you walked each row
sure each seed breached
Dancing flames ring the cotton field
I dip and arch while you push the tractor
So we courted over three bitter seasons
Then in a copse of dense cool fern
by deer
I kneel
a wooden flute
you mount
a knife in clay.
You always laughed being insecure.
Averting my gaze
you peered up through the trees.
Called to a thousand times
You never looked back.

Song of Cyclops

alone in your cave
I can hear you
In your dark place
who would watch
on a moon-surface hillside
your brothers and
sisters circle in an
windswept orbit
from land to land.
Port au prince

Phantom Soldier

I pray.
On the soldier highways
rusty lean phantom soldiers
with your rucksacks of molten tar
when you slept, I put a glass to your chest
and listened.
Remember, it was me who shipped you away
angered and uncertain.
Remember when you called me an ungrateful child.
At first, I said this freedom has a peal to it—
When you didn’t come back
I knew it was an execution.
Phantom soldier
come home.
Reach back to me.

A Diadem of History/Notes on a Third Saeta

Excerpt of reading of A Diadem of History/Notes on a Third Saeta at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival.

Carlos Sirah

Updated bio coming soon.