ISSUE 15
February 2001

Steven Cordova

 

Steven Cordova, a Texan, lives in New York City. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Callaloo, The Journal, Puerto del Sol, and in the anthology Ravishing DisUnities: Real Ghazals in English, published by Wesleyan University Press, October, 2000.


Testing Positive    Click to hear in real audio


The universe at times is simply that
above—often a naked light bulb disturbs.
Larvae make their earth in a chest of blond-
wood drawers; winter breaks and a sweater
slips over me—a fabric thin with holes.
Above me, men's eyes have starred open,
collapsed to seism. The universe when they fell
off me became clich�, became cracked ceiling.

Why fear my rise to the water-stain peel of death?
Today I watched an old man in a barber's chair.
His universe was the woman who, mortician-like,
clipped, circled, her legs scissoring air,
her breath and comb caterpillars on his face,
and how she trimmed his eyebrows with great care. 

 

 

Steven Cordova: Poetry
Copyright � 2000 The Cortland Review Issue 15The Cortland Review