by Leslie Sainz
every pair, a valley/the caravan of the body, stalled, meaty as flour sacks/i have held
many things to the stalwart of trees, i have leaked my sap wide/but look at the mess
i’ve watered for you/licorice spooled, lengthened and medieval/in the dream of this,
we are dehydrated eels, copper as money/in the song, emaciated bata drums, policia
nacional rolling tooth-shaped dice/it is near-game, this tracking of pulse and surplus/
when your country says give, you drain despite the clots.
Leslie Sainz is a first-generation Cuban American who was born and raised in Miami, Florida. She is an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Wisconsin-Madison where she serves as Editor-in-chief of Devil's Lake. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Hayden's Ferry Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, POOL, and others.