The Lingering Wound • poems by Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena

Fear

I keep an eye
on the window

hearing
the creaks

grow louder
waiting

for the moon
to arrive

with urn
like silence

the portrait of the virgin
and child

that I never prayed to
stare at me

as sand drips
inside the waist

of an hourglass
it was my mother's

gift to herself
reading Dostoevsky's books

in isolation
for one whole year

my face avoids
this antique mirror

when it rains