It's as if every season, she forfeits one thing more for the deadtrees' return to life, for the ice to thaw so the bluegreen blood of cuttlefish can pulse again through their three hearts. No one ever asks how many times she has had to do it— or what'…  | Luisa A. Igloria June 2 | It's as if every season, she forfeits
one thing more for the dead
trees' return to life, for the ice to thaw
so the bluegreen blood of cuttlefish
can pulse again through their
three hearts. No one ever asks
how many times she has had to do it—
or what's collected as ransom each time,
a hundred times, no, a thousand or more,
for the god in the underworld— that bruiser
and extortioner—to release his claims on
the daughter. Was she like that once,
herself; and who paid her price? Now
that she's the one who does the supplicating,
she would like to disappear where a line bisects
the sky at the place where the land seems to end. | | | |
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