We Live On

by Maira Rodriguez

In memories
short lived
sunflower roads
names carved
into dying willows
by the river

in white cigarettes
passed in a circle
burn holes of doubt
onto black hoodies

in dark spaces
wide-open fields
under streetlights
by the meth house

in corroded bullet
casings that litter
sagebrush fields
empty halls when
skipping school

on potholed roads
we cruise on desolate
nights, near empty
gas tanks, regret
finds us too young
insists we are lost

in church on Sunday
Sunday after, always
there by choice
or necessity, carry
scent of fire in our hair

in talks about going
east or west, stuck
in this town left to roam
lonely streets, feed
starving dogs, count
withered souls on main

in abandoned
places by the llano
let imagination forge
the smallest details
of our lives over
vodka and rain

in the town
of fatherless children
childless homes
where dreams are
fragile silences

we live on to question
who tied the dead coyote
to a fence crucifixion style,
stole the tires off my dad's
old Datsun, who managed
to escape, who returned?

We live on to love
dilapidated buildings
faces I know and don’t,
rains of soot cover me
seep into skin, leave
shadow prints
wherever we’ve been

to love those days
friends, that place
cling to sleeves
of my sweater
pulling me down
pulling me back

to love the town
of dreams diluted
blooming water lilies
in stagnant rivers
man-made landfills
rotting cow entrails
eaten by crows

Maira Rodriguez is a bilingual poet who lives in Alamosa, Colorado. She explores themes such as dual-identity, place, poverty, grief, trauma and healing, liminality, and the plight of undocumented immigrants in the USA. She earned her BA in Creative Writing at Adams State University and is currently in the MFA in Creative Writing program at Western Colorado University. Her work has most recently appeared in the 2022 edition of Santa Fe Literary Review and she has done work as a freelance writer.