 5 Poems Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal Tears in the Soil The gardener has left his tears in the soil. He cannot make love grow. He left his tool, a hoe, in the soil with his sorrow, by the slow moving snails. It is too late for him. He cannot feed his soul with his pain and deep concern. It hurts too much to work or to breathe, when love is a phantom dream. He feels too low to go on. I hear him weep until the sun sets over yonder. The gaping wound in his soul makes death smile as his life is up for grabs. Sad Days I feel too sad these days to listen to anything you say to me. I fade out like I am concussed as you talk. Tell me anything. But just so you know I might not remember what you said. My mind is so far away. Think of me as absent. Do not look for conversation. I am distant as a star and if I smile it is just a reflex. You can go and on. I am in a world of my own. I am lost in my thoughts. You can consider me gone. The sad days might go away. I hate to waste your time. In silence I will remain. On occasion I will smile. Sick Doctors I do not listen to sick doctors who think less of me and laugh at me when I tell them I make more money than them in a day than they make in a year by just shaking a tree. When I do that money falls from the leaves and drops at my feet. Sometimes I just leave it in the grass for the poor who need it more than me. I just get out of bed and work for an hour or two and I make loads of money. I got a whole mess of cash buried all over town. I just need a shovel or hoe to dig it up and put it in my pocket. I don’t trust banks because bankers are just as bad as sick doctors who make a living by putting people like me in hospital beds. There is not a thing wrong with me. They just can’t handle my personality Dreaming of the Owl Dreaming of the owl with one eye with rain falling inside of my room. Where the roof went I do not know. A cloud was born over my head. I heard the owl song echo in my dream. My heart felt the breeze of the wind. A voice called out my name from the sky. I asked it what it wanted. I heard a murmur of rain that fell soft upon my brow. Where was this dream coming from? I watched the one-eyed owl flying into the cloud. For a fleeting second I awoke but fell back into my dream. A slender version of myself walked outside with its shadow, trembling. I felt a solemn solitude wash over me. In silent contemplation I wept for no reason. Where was the one-eyed owl? I could not utter one word. A voice called out my name once again. The voice came from the cloud where the owl flew into. It told me this the place I could hide. The Unexpected Goodbye The unexpected goodbye like birds unlearning to fly and trees uprooted by tornadoes. The unexpected goodbye like asthmatics gasping for air like being alive but not really there in a world of dementia and confusion. The unexpected goodbye like a firing line execution. A flood washes over our lives already swept away by the wind. The unexpected goodbye moves in for the finish.  Bio: Luis lives in California and works in Los Angeles. He is the author of Make the Water Laugh (Rogue Wolf Press, 2021). His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, Rye Whiskey Review, and Unlikely Stories.
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