Two Poems

Natalia Martínez-Kalinina


There are few more provisional 

lamentations than:

the mango is ready 

when the mango is ready. 

There is also rarely a more 

excitable truism, 

when the mango is ready, 

to say that it is. 

Full Moon

In the water up to my knees,

braiding my hair with busied hands,

you were distracted

waiting for the right time —

but that was the right time, there, 

that moment with the seagull, 

and this moment, 

falling under the white crest, 


realizing the moon is out at mid-day, 

not yet sickled, 

and this moment, right-side up, 

hair tossed, chest sandy, 

as honest as our freckles can be

without saying it out loud,

and this one, complicit,

if you let it; 

the answer is yes

— feral yes,

virgin yes — 

let go,

you can’t miss it.

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