Ángel García



Ángel García was raised in several cities throughout Southern California. His poems have been included in The American Poetry Review, McSweeney’s, and Miramar among others. A CantoMundo fellow, Ángel currently lives in Los Angeles, CA and is a lecturer at CSU Los Angeles. 

Llorona’s Husband Sleepwalks

Waist deep and naked

I wake up in the river

bone cold & unable to breathe.


Other nights, I wake beside it,

sleep wrinkles from river stone

etched into my body and face.


Those nights, dreaming on stone,

I hear their murmured voices

downstream, in darker waters.


The web of their hair swims,

pulls me finally in one last embrace

where we don’t descend or ascend

but simply, keep floating.


Llorona’s Husband Sees the End of the World

After a hard rain: the small scatter of death.

The dream of a woman in red spitting over

the kitchen counter, the poisoned saliva


drowning a trail of ants looking for my flesh.


The boy of me crying on the front stoop,

worms wriggling over my bare feet.


Rain, rain, go away... never come back...


My punishment to be banished in the storm

where I hear brakes screeching toward me,


vision blurred like oil stains floating over puddles.


Llorona’s Husband Experiences Anger

I’ll break you. I’ll break you. I’ll break

you. For good measure, break you again.

Break lip. Break nose. Break both cheeks.

Break you until you are broken and bleeding.

Threaten more breaking, when the breaking

is done. Once broken, I’ll pick up shard by shard,

what’s left of your name. Put you back together again.

Piece by piece. So when you leave, or try to, I can break

you. Break you, again. Break you, continuously, my love.


© The Acentos Review 2015