Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Overmedicated
 
With these trembling hands
I paved roads in Cuba
more than forty years ago.
 
With these trembling hands
I played percussion
in the nightclubs of Havana.
 
With this drooling mouth
I kissed several señoritas
in my island escapades.
 
With this drooling mouth
I sang on Miami street corners
not many days off the boat.
                           
Tell me when can I stop
taking all this medication?
I have no control of my body.
 
Tell me when can I find
freedom in this land, which
promised me refuge?
 
They're worried for my mind.
Please take me back to
my mother in Miami. 

From Dreams

I’ve learned enough from dreams
knowing death is not true when I die

in my dreams, neither are the angels
in my dreams that sprinkle Holy water
on my face. I’ve learned enough from
dreams not to share some of them.

In one dream I was a fruit-bearing tree.
In another dream there was a clock
where my heart should be. I don’t know 
if it had the right time but it beat steadily.
There was a time my dreams frightened
me half to death and there were times
I could barely remember a single thing.
I’ve learned that behind each dream 
forgotten there is a poem or two that 
has been fortunately or not lost forever.

I’ve had three-minute dreams that I could
recall everything down to the clothes I was
wearing, the dialogue too. I’ve learned
enough from dreams that the angel that saved
me was only a statue in the end. It
landed on earth from a red blood sky.

The forecast was for rain, thunderstorms,
and dark clouds, but not for fallen angels.

Best Friend

If I had a best friend,
we would drink wine,
get drunk too fast,
and talk about the
women we loved and
how much it still hurts 
when it all went up in
flames. My best friend
would tell me to be
good to myself, and I
would tell him the same.
To be honest, I would 
not speak of my love
life. It would be a sore
subject. The wine would
be enough. I could share
that. We would have good 
times. I would be silent,
even timid about sharing
too much. Eloquent, I am
not. If I had a best friend,
we would drink wine for
hours. Sometimes we
would go to the city, hit
all the wine bars. We would 
have a great time. But
it is just a musing. I rather
be on my own. It is what
I prefer. I have no regrets.
With the naked eye, I stare 
out into the night. Here, I
stand witness. The moon
is my best friend. It has 
always been there for me.

 

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabol  was born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Misfit Magazine, Nerve Cowboy, and Unlikely Stories. His most recent poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue World Press.