At dusk the skirt would unfold from an inkblot.
I would follow each hem,
vase of barren soil tilting forth,
palms welled for a spare garden,
until it frayed apart, clutching
her basket, in arrow-nosed stroll
ticking on the sidewalk.
Hands in my two stomachs
as hats brimmed with roads,
spilled clocks onto concrete
—even that blindfolded zero
searched for golden coins
under park benches.
Alfredo Barnaby was born in Lima, Peru and moved to Lewiston, Idaho when he was thirteen. He has since lived in the northwest. He has a master’s degree in Spanish literature and wrote his thesis about the Peruvian poet César Vallejo. He currently live in Seattle, WA and is a doctoral student at the University of Washington in Seattle, WA.