LESLIE MARIE AGUILAR
I, too, create a universe on the stone step. Cradle the cactus. It flowers these palms. Women carved from agate. I breathe vapor into their lungs. Gift each a cedar dagger. No swords sheathed in skin. Suspended in a polished globe. These are constellation queens. An optical illusion, you say. But what need do we have of planets? Of collapsing stars? Safer at points of lower elevation. Our sons are birthed from geodes. Collision on a smaller scale is still. Creation. & the slit given by my creator? A weakness, no longer. The birthplace of civilization—a lineage forged in the light of a new womb.
Leslie Marie Aguilar originally hails from the heartland of Texas. She has served as the Poetry Editor of Indiana Review and received her MFA from Indiana University. Her work has been supported by the National Society of Arts and Letters and the Fine Arts Work Center. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Callaloo, Hobart, Ninth Letter, Rattle, Sonora Review, and Washington Square Review among others. She is the author of Mesquite Manual (New Delta Review, 2015).