Poem: "The Xpakinté and the Drunk"

The Xpakinté and the Drunk

“The Xpakinté is not really a person,
although she looks like a woman.”
—Munda Tostó, “The Xpakinté”


The woods seems painted in different shades of black but isn’t.
The tall oak swerves into his face but isn’t.

She looks like a woman but isn’t.
She looks like his wife, her hair braided with red pompons, but isn’t.

By the bank of fog a small light shines but isn’t.
The light comes from the Xpakinté but isn’t.

She loses her shawl and skirt and is naked but isn’t.
Her cunt hides in black moss but isn’t.

One finger-snap she is there but isn’t.
He is hugging a hollow tree but isn’t.

The tree is alive with hairy caterpillars (but isn’t)
that stink like fire but isn’t.

In the morning he is found dead but isn’t.
He is home with his wife, the pretty one with red pompons in her hair, but isn’t.

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