Live Encounters Poetry & Writing 16th Anniversary Volume Six
November- December 2025
End of September, poems by Alicia Viguer-Espert.
End of September
Summer turns dark, suddenly
in this early evening hour
after gray clouds shed their load
softly laundering my garden.
Songs of rain, extended music
playing rhythmically on roof tops
do not offer consolation
to the melancholic, not today.
The pelted bougainvillea faints,
scarlet spills over the sidewalk,
the five white arms of jasmine flowers
wave good bye leaving sadness behind.
Like that wounded bird,
the one I cradled in my palm,
offered drops of water with my finger,
my broken wings can’t navigate the stars.
About the Red Barn We Never Owned
There is nothing left
from the days before the red barn,
-the barn we never owned,
burned in the fire;
we never owned the fire either.
All that remains is the memory
of voices cracked with anger,
fear to expose old-time wounds,
and a red moon over the Turia River
watching flamingos’ anxiety build up
because couldn’t fly away fast enough.
Today I return to our old home.
From the window I see the burned barn
we never owned but you wanted to,
you wanted other things that were not me.
A smoky scent still dangles
from the rigid shoulders of hangers in the bedroom closet.
The transparent resilient fabric of cobwebs
stubbornly clinging to my hair has a lot to teach us,
but we were not teachable in those days
when the barn we did not own burned.
In a drawer I find a roll of 8-millimeter film
Examining the first frame over the window’s light,
I see hands holding, our heads bent together
with laughter as sunlight leans over your shoulder,
but on the right upper corner, a dark cloud approaches.
To the Hidden One
After the Flood in Valencia
I pray to understand the soul hidden in leaves,
the pyroclastic voice of summer thunder,
how minutes stretch into hours at sunset,
why the heart of my vibrant and beautiful sister
ceased to beat against her strong will, but I refuse
to rub against your thighs like a dog with fleas.
In this unrelenting flood lullabies cannot be heard
from the window heavy blackout curtains convulse;
piano lessons, lives, books from the library, gone.
And I remember how
at night I used to extend my arms tentatively
as if you were a new lover, other times I sat
with palms open hoping you’ll materialize
on my hands a cluster of pearls for me
to touch the smoothness of your pearliness.
It’s a mystery, you and I groping in the dark.
Now waves of dread rise up to my waist
as I wait for the rescue boat of assurance
that you’ll stop my city from drowning.
Water keeps rising. I cannot purchase prayers
in the market and the snake in the storm hisses.
I should not have to beg, I’m your daughter
my inheritance rights are written on the forehead
of my heart. Talk to me. Teach me the secrets of love,
so, I can forgive you.
© Alicia Viguer-Espert
Alicia Viguer-Espert, born and raised in Valencia, Spain is a four-times Pushcart nominee. Winner of the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Festival (2017) with her chapbook “Holding a Hummingbird.” Two chapbooks, “Out of the Blue Womb of the Sea” (2020) and “Four in 1” (2022) are published by Four Feather Press. She has published at Panoply, Amethyst Review, Lummox, Altadena Poetry Review, Odyssey, Sin Cesar, Live Encounters, Galway Review, and Thimble among others. Panelist for “Writing from Our Immigrant Hearts,” presented at: LifeFest in the Dena Pasadena (2023), Avenue 50 Studio, Los Angeles (2023), San Diego Writers Festival, San Diego (2024), Burbank Buena Vista Library, Burbank (2024), Eagle Rock Library, Los Angeles (2024)