If I Could Reach You by Jose Rivera
Water splits two colors. Red and purple. Like your image
burns a scar in my heart that battles the fear of losing you.
This is not a dream, this is the break of my chains, a genie
in a bottle, release from my footprints.
I condemn the jealousy I feel, a raw ache for
the beauty of your eyes. Eyes that could turn away,
leaving me alone to swim in the river of you, I am brave,
I brave the colorful water that feeds this yearning.
Lap by lap, I am no longer dead, not if I can reach you,
not if I can catch the luminescence in your eyes,
not if I can break that anger boxed inside you,
not if your image in the water swims back to me.
I picture your eyes over waves, on every other man
they dipped in on the way to me.
I condemn this jealousy, this genie, this water, under-
tow taking you, my dolphin
We swim with sightless grace, eels in blue water.
A split color, where your image lies, blue. Split water,
like my heart, wet language of longing. I can't rise
to the surface with these chains.
BIO: Jose Rivera hails from Puerto Rico and now lives in New York City. He has published in The Cherry Blossom Review, Poesia, Underground Window, Eclectica, and Antithesis Common. EMAIL: xxx@xxx