Animals: Three Poems by Luisa A. Igloria
Hypocenter
Zero, as in ground. Zoic traces, all but vanished
by the last worst-ever catastrophe. Zones take
the place of neighborhoods, nations: all the north-
south-east-west we once knew, all the mapped and
gridded sheets. Zills clicked in the fingers of Spanish
dancers. Zabagliones thickened with egg yolks, sugar,
and sweet wine. Zebras (15), bushbucks (12), elands (11),
gazelles (11), giraffes (15), impalas (18), waterbucks (12),
and topis (10) brought to Calauit island in 1977 on the MV
Salvador. Zaftig now in her eighties, does the former
dictator’s wife even remember what she was thinking
when she clapped her diamond-encrusted hands and
ordered her own personal safari? Zizz zizz say the bees
in the lavender— Zealotries are not their business:
only preparation for the days coming faster than
anyone could anticipate. Zestless, saltless, lightless.
Zibelines and other soft, lustrous fabrics along with
qiviut, alpaca, angora, merino and silk, by this time
mere entries in the encyclopedia of former lives
and bodies before they faded with the world.
noir noir
last word
last to the last word
small drowned villages
imagine unburned meadows
post-tectonic train schedules
passionfruit cocktails
from benzoin, glycerin, ethanol
you can't stop thinking about the giraffes
their necks undulating like rubber fingers
in that sad island
ramen still comes in crinkly packets
a yellow square in some of them
little yellow egg raft
inflating in tepid water
are you comforted to think
the chambers of whales' hearts
have not shrank by much
An End to Time
I like putting one foot in front of the other,
walking at a steady pace until I change
the speed on the treadmill or come to
the end of the half-hour. I like wiping down
the silver and putting them back in their
drawers, but not ironing out the creases
in a shirt. The child asks, is there
an end of time? It's the kind of question
that can't be answered. If we knew, the world
would be a different place entirely. If we knew,
all measures would be undone. Animals
would never come out of the sealed caves
of their hibernation. The last however many
years of heartache would dissolve like a golden
cube of honey in a glass of tea. The old queen
would leave the hive whenever she wanted to
without being followed by a swarm, without
having to scout for a new home to populate
with food and bodies. Without the new queens
killing each other in order to be the only one.
Photo Credit: Gabriela Igloria
About Luisa A. Igloria
Luisa A. Igloria is the author of Maps for Migrants and Ghosts (Co-Winner, 2019 Crab Orchard Open Poetry Prize), The Buddha Wonders if She is Having a Mid-Life Crisis (2018), 12 other books, and 4 chapbooks. Originally from Baguio City, she makes her home in Norfolk VA where she is the Louis I. Jaffe and University Professor of English and Creative Writing at Old Dominion University’s MFA Creative Writing Program. She also leads workshops for and is a member of the board of The Muse Writers Center in Norfolk. Luisa is the 20th Poet Laureate of the Commonwealth of Virginia (2020-22), Emerita. During her term, the Academy of American Poets awarded her a 2021 Poet Laureate Fellowship. www.luisaigloria.com