right hand pointing

   

 

 
  Wendy Taylor Carlisle

In Miguel Hernandez’s Room, Guanajuato



The maja is naked again

surrounded by 

Diego’s calla lilies, incised 

in soft wood.  Out the window

the boys go, slapping 

their bare feet.  The stucco

walls and painted floor 

tiles hold a chill.  You take 

a shower now.  I’ll tremble 

here until tomorrow to wash my hair.

 

 

 




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