Chamuel Lo, though he were in Gethsemane, he was also with me. The thigh bone is strong but, at a certain point, it is like a twig. Even a bird, alighting after a long journey, ruffling its wings in a shiver, could, in shrugging its feathered shoulder, break it. If I told you I had green wings, you wouldn’t believe me. But I am not … Continue reading Two poems by Ivy Alvarez