THE WAY IT IS
By Eduardo Escalante
The way it is
An invisible sound,
Beneath the wave,
He breaks it. old timber
does not survive to
the sound of footsteps.
The leaves fall from the trees
the day hangs
from their necks.
Flock of birds
Round in the afternoons,
Alerts to falling seed.
The dismembered trunk
betray inhabitants. Toes
submerge in the arteries of
The sunken roots in the earth.
They leave stunning prints.
Nothing paralyzed
Flow or crunch
attending to these life events
I will grasp them with my hand
– its urgent here
About the Author:
Eduardo Escalante is a writer and researcher living in Valparaíso, Chile; he publishes regularly in Hispanic Reviews (Signum Nous, Ariadna, Nagari, Espacio Luke, Lakuma Pusaki, among others); and reviews in English (StlylusLit, Writer Resits, Spillwords, Slamchop and in Gramma Poetry).
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