Right Hand Pointing

r i g h t h a n d p o i n t i n g

short fiction short poetry short commentary short..uh..art


	Four Poems Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
	I am happy to have discovered the work of poet Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. I had occasion to exchange email with Luis and he sent me a copy of his book, Raw Materials. Luis was born in Mexico and lives in California where he works in the mental health field. His poems are about madness, cultural displacement, justice and injustice. These poems previously appeared in Fearless, The American Dissident, and The New American Imagist. Signed, "Citizen" The psychiatrist doesn't seem happy. I fear he's the depressed one. The psychiatrist isn't very sociable. I fear he's the one that's guarded. The psychiatrist isn't helping me at all. I believe he's not very good. The psychiatrist isn't very persuasive. I believe he's the confused one. My sins are cleansed by the blood of Christ. The psychiatrist doesn't confide Or confess the Lord. I can see it in his eyes. Please, forgive him before he sees God's wrath. Assimilation It is a slow death It begins at grade school The vocal chords twist In unusual ways With practice it gets easier The accent changes You could hear it You used to say "Meester" but now it is "Mister" Twenty years of refining The sound of the words And still I can't say "shoes" I say "chus" And I'm elated Because it never lets me Forget my past The place where I came from Enemies of the Word After Cuauhtencoztli I suffer Feeling my words Won't be real Long after I'm gone Destitute Nothing will survive These men Enemies of the word Will bury What they can't sell Oh, my friends Let's sing and die
	Genocidio Nos quieren sin boca Sin voz, sin cabeza Nos quieren sin ojos Sin vista, sin cerebro Nos quiren desnudos Sin pene, sin alma Nos quieren muy lejos De la mesa, con hambre Nos quieren muertos Sin caja, sin velorio Nos quieren olvidados Desaparecidos	Genocide They want us without mouths Without a voice, without a head They want us without eyes Without sight, without a brain They want us naked Without balls, without a soul They want us out of the way Far from the table, far from home They want us dead Without a coffin, without a funeral They want us forgotten Disappeared

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos (Mexico). He lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His writing has appeared in Fearless, The American Dissident, and The New American Imagist, Cedar Hill Review, Blue Collar Review, Chrysanthemum, Iodine, Arsenic Lobster, and in many other magazines.

All rights reserved. All poems, fiction, articles, essays, and artwork are the property of the authors and artists within, and as such, are protected by applicable U.S. and international copyright law. Copying or reprinting in any form is prohibited without the expressed permission of the author or artist.