{ Hijito – poems – Carlos Andrés Gómez }

poems, Carlos Andrés Gómez
Platypus Press, 2019


Somewhere between the ‘sly mirror‘ and ‘taut mirage’ of Hijito, poet Carlos Andrés Gómez sees ourselves in ourselves and then goes about the tender flesh-work of putting us there. Though I’m not sure we can keep death from acting like a child, or that we can trace the living back to life, the humane spacing claimed in this verse allows room for all to believe that to make dust of our chalk supply we must age death with our knowledge of where its bodies are. No matter how intricately dead we find ourselves while fixing the hair of the young and ruminating on how suddenly another thing exists to put a crib toy in its mouth, Gómez plays the long game in deconstructing the alibis oft given by brevity and, in doing so, reveals precision to be just another disguise that weaponry wears. If sorrow is a wannabe shadowmaker, Gómez is careful to cry over the correct form. Oh startled thunder, these are not noiseless meditations. Hijito is specific.


reflection by Barton Smock


book is here:


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