BIO
Marina Pruna Moré is originally from Argentinean Patagonia. A graduate of Florida International University’s MFA Program, her work has appeared in Soundings Review, Flatmancrooked’s Slim Volume of Contemporary Poetics, Hinchas de Poesia, The New Poet, and Middle Gray Magazine.
Moon
Where will you end up?
Will I be any better then?
Will my body crater like yours
in the way of every ennobling blow?
Pitiful saucer, only good
as a slice, otherwise
dented, discolored, a black
and white image, short of sepia.
The man with the infinite coat
playing kidnapper: a blaze to your head
while we’re blue and spinning,
endless in worry, a world in despair.
My mind has become my own satellite,
thought after thought suspended in orbit,
never arriving, never leaving.
A traveler of my own starred evening.
Acento
I imagine you, syllable gavel,
as from the time of castles
and bloody bulls.
General Acento crossing the ocean,
heralding uniform cries of pitch and cadence,
creating at once an army of foot soldiers
and a history.
Today you might be
on a train in a rainy city,
the whole world fast, in color.
You are one-legged
and seated in a dirty corner.
The rest of us only remember
to forget to look around,
to notice anything but our stresses,
even when the man in the corner
could use a hand
regaining his footing in this world.
Two Orchids
1
Fence, lattice, rusty hooks, bones of oak,
assured of morning, noon, night,
and all tidal changes or almanac deliveries,
drawn out by fire, after rain, in spite of fire,
arching to meet, to unfold a gloved white hand.
2
Lancing to perfection, it
is a swimmer diving through air,
projecting the rounded chest
of quivering purple until
it collapses into suspension,
a statue of itself.