The Saguaro, Gossamer: An ekphrasis of my B1-B2 Visa
By MARÍA GÓMEZ de LEÓN
SURNAME
Forgo the tactile labyrinth
the ridges and valleys
chasing each other in waves
the swirl and ripple in my fingerprints
faint murmur water
to my memory
GIVEN NAME
Cypher the face stitched
forehead hair behind both
ears my territory
informed
surrendered
DATE OF BIRTH
Print my name my given
name my surname sex
the exact day
I was unwombed
lest I forget
DATE OF ISSUE
Mexican a foreign word
an animal to me docked
of its vowelled tail
which it cannot grow back
now hosts as a ghost limb
print the date this expires on
lest I forget
SEX
print the smaller letters
undulating in a pattern
whichever words can become
a landscape like United
States of America United
States of America United
States Department of
DATE OF EXPIRATION
State the obvious
the transparency of all saguaros
the horizon is a ghost setting
a chemical sun’s radiation
of harmony the wheatfield
that plows my eyes the eagles
that comb my forehead the flag
a hologram welkin peopled by
a constellation of stars reminiscent
of the palms of CDs but not their music
NATIONALITY
State only the obvious
a desert is a watermark
a hoard of specters has sculpted
eroded the arch in Arches
National Park like wind
or water and made from stone
a threshold and erased their names ✹
María Gómez de León is a bilingual poet and translator currently pursuing an MFA at the Michener Center for Writers. Her first book, Linfa, won the 2023 International Gilberto Owen Estrada Poetry Prize.
