to hold these contradictions in kinship

forming an arrowhead, ibises carry each other in the direction of
what i want to read as a glyph of hope.

i walk east—a parking lot almost burns—the dusk blushes,
lukewarm—then i’m back again on the balcony of my university
building six and half years ago before we met, wind transporting
brush sediments towards approaching summer.

those jacarandas and tolerant native vines—auspicious walks on
hot nights, a feline rolls her body in dirt. under this sky, i nurse
a kindling.

you feel gone more than ever. your shoulder turns over into
another bed. shadows lean into my neck like ink spill, reminding
me of those ibises and how i should proceed.

in absence, i despise what you’ve become, what you’ve always
been, a secret set loose and this body who prays for your
reckoning.

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“In this poem, I explore loss and betrayal from a failed, painful relationship amidst the backdrop of the dry, wildfire prone climate typical to many areas in Southern California. I believe the natural world is in constant relation to us, even in times of our human bound distress and grief. I’m in awe of how nature can adapt to the changes in our personal lives as well as provide fertile messages that one needs to know especially during sweeping moments of transition. In this case, jacarandas, vines, cat, and the ibises whose migratory flight transform into a kind of symbol meant for the speaker in the poem to understand. At the end of the poem, the speaker is infused in contradictory, opposing emotions of placidity, anger, melancholy, and contempt even but to witness these conflicting emotions can be a form of remedy and reconciliation with one’s self.”
—Angela Peñaredondo