From a spare palette—red, blue, brown—hubbub. Revelers and
Scolds circle the Drunk astride a barrel. Hooligans storm the
cloaked Penitents as they shuffle into church. Hens squawk,
maids squeal, a boy tickles the backside of the Devil. The
Cripple peers into a well as children scatter like marbles, jostling
bakers, soldiers, dunces, and nuns lolling in the square. Splashes
of white form a triangle—apron, grain sack, egg—invoking the
Trinity and other miracles of composition. A single day, the
ground neutral, and windows everywhere, gaping like mouths.
About the Author
Holly Iglesias is a poet and translator. Her work includes Angles of Approach (White Pine Press), Souvenirs of a Shrunken World (Kore Press), and Boxing Inside the Box: Women’s Prose Poetry (Quale Press). She is the recipient of fellowships and grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the North Carolina Arts Council, the Massachusetts Cultural Council, and the Edward Albee Foundation. Her most recent work is Sleeping Things, forthcoming from New Rivers Press.
