VANESSA ANGELICA VILLARREAL
I Appear to Myself in a Corn Tortilla
when I am pregnant and starving
at six am, preparing an egg
or two at the warm black iron I think
of the hen of the pale taupe
shell so easy to crack the warm yolk
ever suspended like a sun in its center
and my heart my womb too suspended
in the center of my body I am a symmetry
of lifting between my hips the baby
afloat as if by magic and so I crack
the egg and contemplate my holiness
flip the tortilla and in the air it stays
you are already
some bright cold go
but the road
is a diamond cord
longing, & amazed I
am stung pale light
the distance plain
loaded saturn trample
my stone this sadder body
In fire, we discover our human parts: hooves split into toes then fuse again, hair unravels from buffalo heads, bristled fur recedes, regrows in the dark. We scarcely remember our flesh forms, or recognize our ownership.
To find the original light is to find the source body. In albedo, we ache toward the firs. We run toward utter dark.
The water wall topples over, crashing down on us in long, foamy loops, as if it were hair tumbling down the canyon’s great white shoulders.
Vanessa Angelica Villarreal's work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Poetry Foundation Harriet blog, The Feminist Wire, Caketrain, DIAGRAM, The Western Humanities Review, NANO Fiction, The Colorado Review Online, and elsewhere. She is a CantoMundo Fellow and her book, BEAST MERIDIAN, was a finalist at Nightboat, Futurepoem, Saturnalia, and Willow Books, and is forthcoming from Noemi Press in 2017. Her hometown is Houston, Texas.