Poetry / October 2017 (Issue 37)


The Nature of a City

by Lawrence Lacambra Ypil

The nature of a city depended on the tendency of a cup to stay on its plate, or the red tiled roof which kept the rains out in June, now August, until it fell off in pieces on the street one summer.

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The horses came from the fields, you know, said the man from somewhere else.

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The afternoon being the invention of the passerby who believing it was important to get shrimp from the market at midday, too late, navigated the streets that were becoming less river, less stream.

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While the highway moved and moved in the mind even as the highways were not made yet.

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Depending on the year, a road was what a drought left of a waterway alley to linger in.

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The rope made out of tying the thing around itself, said the man who opened the door to let us in, like we were the weather, the wind.
 
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