Poetry Drawer: Footsteps: Taking the Name: Cut Down to Size: Count the Days: Our Collapse by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal


There was a knock on my door.
I heard footsteps walking as I
opened it. My heart skipped a beat.
I saw no one, only heard footsteps
walk and walking away. I counted
a thousand footsteps at least.
I am known to embellish things.
I fear the man I am turning into.
There was no shadow to those
footsteps. In the distance I thought
I saw a figure walking. It was just
a memory of someone I once knew.

Taking the Name

The skeleton’s skull
is suspended
in the night sky,
taking the name
moon; its bleached
white tears are
dispersed along
night’s canvas,
taking the name
stars. The black ink
is spread throughout,
which has already
been named sky.
Its hue will change
in the twenty-four
hours called day
with spheres lingering
in the sky with the names
of sun and planets
to keep our attention
and interest.

Cut Down to Size

O, I am not handy with a saw,
but I have cut into wood like
a woodcutter. I cut until my
hands hurt and my blisters
made me feel useful. I cut
under the shadows of tree
leaves. The cutting of limbs
was such a release. One day
someone might be cutting
on me. I am far from healthy.
I feel the pain in my knees.
I feel the torment of not being
able to do what I used to do.
I see my life racing by. I am
seeing a future where I will
need to slow down.

Count the Days

Here I count the days?
My time is going slow.
Between morning and noon,
between noon and five o’clock,
I feel a quiver some days.
The days are so long.
I search my soul so
deep. One of these days
I will lie under grass.

I am just here surviving.
Green pastures await me.
I will lie underneath.
Time is up for everyone.
There is no need to feel sad.
I do not always feel down.
I look forward to night
to watch the stars cluster.

Our Collapse

Our collapse is our own doing.
Greed inevitably consumes itself.
Man has sold its soul for riches.
This negligence will come due.
Like a wilted flower, we will perish
someday someway at any hour.
I will be among the protesters
kicking up the dust I will become.

Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Ink Pantry, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories.

You can find more of Luis’ work here on Ink Pantry.

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