1 poem
Buried
landmines / little windows / termite tunnels
into you / like / stars / pepper-dark / dart /
far / through the jungle / hum / little bird /
like / a candle / burning down / to its last
inch / in our outdoor temple / fear-
lacquered / like / a thick slick / of varnish /
like / nemagón / like / poison / nectar /
prayers / like / that thing we're waiting for /
that / everyone / eventually / desires / that /
will never come / like / the bamboo / shoots
we grew / that / splintered in our hands / so
we felt something / sitting / picking / at our
calloused skin / on a Sunday afternoon /
lashing palms / for a dollhouse / for our
firstborn / son / a place to play pretend / as
if / the imaginary / were inevitable / as if /
that / were the only way and / that / thing
we're waiting for / will show at any minute
/ as if / we had / the power to know why /
we cannot ask why / we cannot estimate / a
time of arrival / how / long the dollhouse
will stand / or / how / in your little heart /
you hold / the whisper of / that / cunning
trick / that / lesson for the ages / which / is
to be stubborn / which / is never to arrive /
which / we must forgive / little thing / wise
beyond existence / already buried before
you break the viscous cap
Benjamin Faro is a green-thumbed writer and educator living in Asunción, Paraguay, on stolen Guaraní lands. He is currently pursuing his MFA at Queens University of Charlotte, and his Pushcart-nominated poetry appears in EcoTheo Review, Portland Review, Atlanta Review, JMWW, and other literary outlets. His prose is forthcoming in the Best Small Fictions 2022 anthology. Find him online at www.benjaminfaro.com.