by Mariela Griffor
Mauricio was found at the morgue
with the inscription of NN
hanging from his left toe.
The Lucky Strike we shared finally killed him.
It is ironic that after all the gigantic genius
didn't kill him with a tank or modern M-16,
but the toxins of an addiction.
We both shared the same smokes
on numerous occasions. More than once he told
me he wanted to share more than that and once
he wanted to know if I smoked in bed after
making love. I coughed in surprise
but I did give him an answer: Sometimes I do,
I said to him, sometimes I drink water from the faucet.
I was simpler than the fantasy he had about me.
Maybe just poets can understand each other,
even bad poets have another language. It is like
the words are invented only for those who love them.
We went to the movies once: we saw Jules et Jim by Francois Truffaut.
Mariela Griffor was born in the city of Concepción in southern Chile. She attended the University of Santiago and the Catholic University of Rio de Janeiro. She is founder of The Institute for Creative Writers at Wayne State University and publisher of the Marick Press. She is the author of Exiliana (Luna Publications) and House (Mayapple Press).