Two Poems by Ingrid Calderon

Beneath My Hands

Beneath my hands
my small breasts
are graveyards of all the lovers
who have sucked them…
Wherever I fly
the flutter of
honey-dipped wings
slackens my flight…
I am mimed,
because I’ve migrated
to the landfill of your unspoiled,
where birds get trapped in hurricanes
and fail to fatten up…
I dread the time
when your mouth,
a chain-linked fence
begins to spread its web
like spilled ink…
When I call your tongue close,
and whisper…
how I can’t forget
the salt of your niches,
how I serenade your ghosts to bed
whenever they pull strings to find me,
how I tremble from your fingers
smothered deep inside my heart,
finding postcards that you’ve dropped there,
still unread…
When I call your tongue close,
and whisper…
how polaroid’s of us
shuffle through echoed eyelids
reflecting our day’s back to me
in a million different angles


killing time

we spend entire lifetimes in the mouth/
watching honey drip
in the nests of unsaid words,
salivating at the strength of others/
pirouetting silhouettes of anger
squeezed at the tip of the tongue/
there is mud and salt mixed where we’ve eaten/
crumbs of halos that we’ve shattered/
blind in the light
you dust the sleep from your lashes
and fly/
If the war gets heavy
let the vultures have me/
pose pretty by my grave
dig your tongue in coarse terrain
explain yourself,
remind yourself
of rusted sunsets/
from Left to Right
sort your softness
till it thickens,
split your cavities
with sweetness,
what good are mouths
if not
to aid decay…


Ingrid Calderon is a Salvadoran refugee residing in Los Angeles. She has been published in OCCULUM, Electric Cereal, Dryland, Seafom Mag, Anti-Heroin Chic, Bad Pony Mag, L’Éphémère Review, and other places. After writing three chapbooks, Things Outside, Wayward, and Zenith, she continues the mischief of scribbling nonsense into verse.  She hopes it resonates. Find her on Twitter @BrujaLamatepec.

Featured Image by Robbie Masso. Find him on Facebook, instagram, and his website.

Submit to Punch Drunk Press.


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