Marina Pruna Moré

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Marina Pruna Moré is originally from Argentinean Patagonia. A graduate of Florida International University’s MFA Program, her work has appeared in Soundings Review, Flatmancrooked’s Slim Volume of Contemporary Poetics, Hinchas de Poesia, The New Poet, and Middle Gray Magazine. 



Where will you end up?

Will I be any better then?


Will my body crater like yours

in the way of every ennobling blow?


Pitiful saucer, only good

as a slice, otherwise


dented, discolored, a black

and white image, short of sepia.


The man with the infinite coat

playing kidnapper: a blaze to your head


while we’re blue and spinning,

endless in worry, a world in despair.


My mind has become my own satellite,

thought after thought suspended in orbit,


never arriving, never leaving.

A traveler of my own starred evening.





I imagine you, syllable gavel,

as from the time of castles

and bloody bulls.


General Acento crossing the ocean,

heralding uniform cries of pitch and cadence,

creating at once an army of foot soldiers

and a history.


Today you might be

on a train in a rainy city,

the whole world fast, in color.

You are one-legged

and seated in a dirty corner.


The rest of us only remember

to forget to look around,

to notice anything but our stresses,

even when the man in the corner

could use a hand

regaining his footing in this world.





Two Orchids




Fence, lattice, rusty hooks, bones of oak,

assured of morning, noon, night,

and all tidal changes or almanac deliveries,

drawn out by fire, after rain, in spite of fire,

arching to meet, to unfold a gloved white hand.





Lancing to perfection, it

is a swimmer diving through air,

projecting the rounded chest

of quivering purple until

it collapses into suspension,

a statue of itself.

© The Acentos Review 2016