Tag Archives: Ian Salvaña

Musing on a painting of Vincent van Gogh

Its worn-out skin is a study in want:       the soles             freckled by sweat,                         the leather                                     hardened by time become masterful             in rearing to their own restfulness They       have been there                         quietly waiting,                                     but no one touches them they thirst for … Continue reading

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To fly a kite

we wait a little more before 3 o’clock arrives: the slow peeking of the eyelids, the imitated noise of heavy men snoring, the weight of our arms clinging to each other when we act of sleeping. Ate Esme has no … Continue reading

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Notes from the desert

for Ten Ilajas It’s the dunes that talk to me, how they loosen up in each other’s embrace, garrisoned by the inevitable touch of sunlight. I look at the body of Al-Dahna blanketing the vast deserts of Arabia, unbruised, seems … Continue reading

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What distance means

Taytayan. Meaning, bridge. Meaning, latayan—the crossing of feet, the markings of heels bare from lack of money, calloused by the rough skin of the earth. Understood as an unmoving companion of the ones living and thriving in the rural home … Continue reading

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If the sea could only bring her back

The water is calm now. You are sitting on the sand, your arms clinging to your feet, tightly like there’s no tomorrow. The movements of your hair are the only proof of the efforts of the cold wind from the … Continue reading

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