'My Psychic History So Far' by Daniel Luévano

    
    

As long as we're on the subject of grandmas—

maybe mine had a psychic experience

while in psychiatric care at Providence,

                    after OD-ing again.

We would ask her, my mother and I,

"How was your day?"

and she'd say, "Oh, 611"

and we'd say, "Huh?" and she'd say,

"87" and we'd say,

"Did you like your dinner OK?"

and she'd say, "347"

and it was kind of like talking to the I Ching.

So maybe Grandma was an oracle we'll never crack,

'cause I can't say she ever really spoke to us again.

But you know,

nothing really supernatural has ever happened to me

                    and I'm kind of disappointed.

No abductors or precognition,

near-death or devils,

no dead or vibrating, electrifying cusp triggering recall in the atmosphere. . . .

And I've been such a buff,

                    since I was a kid.

Kids, you know,

dream about being superhuman, super-

natural—adults too,

                    and that goes for adults.

(published in The Expatriate, 1995)

'Don Arturo Jalisco, in Salvation' by Daniel Luévano

    

    

Death wanders a blind drunk

through the moneyed suburbs

of Torreón, México.

Don Arturo is dead, but death

cannot find him.

On his street, the row of satellite dishes

is bringing in American pay TV.

The neighborhood watches the actors speak

as if through windows, turning

alternately red then green,

but no one thinks to do a thing.

Doña Carmen knows her husband is dead

but cannot find him.

Dumb with awe, she opens every cupboard,

every drawer, trunk and closet,

opens the front, patio and basement doors,

shakes out mats, pulls out plugs,

picks up the telephone.  Thrilling!

Nowhere.

(published in Persona, 1992)