Poems by Alberto Rios

Poems by Alberto Rios

The Cities Inside Us, by Alberto Rios

We live in secret cities
And we travel unmapped roads.

We speak words between us that we recogni...

Day of the Refugios, by Alberto Rios

  In Mexico and Latin America, celebrating one's
  Saint's day instead of one's birthday ...

Refugio's Hair, by Alberto Rios

In the old days of our family,
My grandmother was a young woman
Whose hair was as long as the riv...

The Chair She Sits In, by Alberto Rios

I’ve heard this thing where, when someone dies,People close up all the holes around the house—The...

We Dogs of a Thursday Off, by Alberto Rios

The wine of uncharted days,
Their unsteady stance against the working world,

The intense intoxic...

Perfect for Any Occasion, by Alberto Rios

1.Pies have a reputation.And it’s immediate—no talk of potentialRegarding a pie.  It’s goodOr it ...

The Border: A Double Sonnet, by Alberto Rios

The border is a line that birds cannot see.The border is a beautiful piece of paper folded carele...

Faithful Forest, by Alberto Rios

 1.I will wait, said wood, and it did.Ten years, a hundred, a thousand, a million—It did not matt...

The Secret in the Mirror, by Alberto Rios

The mirror is dirty from the detritus of dailiness—I look in the mirror and am freckled.A week ou...

Teodoro Luna's Two Kisses, by Alberto Rios

Mr. Teodoro Luna in his later years had taken to kissing
His wife
Not so much with his lips as wi...

When Giving Is All We Have , by Alberto Rios

                                              One river gives                                    ...

When There Were Ghosts, by Alberto Rios

On the Mexico side in the 1950s and 60s,There were movie houses everywhere
And for the longest ti...

Don’t Go Into the Library, by Alberto Rios

The library is dangerous—Don’t go in. If you do
You know what will happen.It’s like a pet store o...

Nani, by Alberto Rios

Sitting at her table, she serves the sopa de arroz to me instinctively, and I watch her,the absol...

December Morning in the Desert, by Alberto Rios

The morning is clouded and the birds are hunched,More cold than hungry, more numb than loud,
Thi...