a poem

The Book of What Remains

by Benjamin Saenz

Every night, the dream.

Every dawn, the waking

To that profound

State of sadness and solitude.

Always you rushed out

Into the yard and wept

At the sight of the honeysuckles in bloom

And the blueness of the sky.


A worled without the sweetness of jasmine

And honeysucks? Imagine a world

Without the perfect breeze,

Without the perfect blue

That only a sky in June can give?


Sometimes, you wake in the night.

You are afraid. You are afraid

That your heart will become

A desert again. Uninhabitable.


As Mexicans would have it:

Cada cabeza es un mundo

Every single mind

Constitutes a world—

An ecosystem.

Each life

A city

With streets, avenues,

Libraries, histories,

Museums, homes

Gardens, alleys filled

Garbage, kitchens

Aromas, secrets,

And novels that contain

Voices that must not

Become extinct.