Emily Bludworth de Barrios (2)




We each of us carry the murder
back with us into our houses apartments or townhomes

There to unwrap it and inspect it

To shake it gently, it makes no

It is our murder now and we
have it in our kitchens

It is a thing that grows without

It creeps or spreads or slides
down the block turns the streets and seeps out further

Eventually through the whole
neighborhood until we all have it

Each of us some portion

Meanwhile it remains mute
dumb and stupid like a stone

Look for yourself it’s hard dumb
and stupid A dense stupid stone

I carry with me a dense stupid

You are curious about the details

I will not share the details

I take out the murder-stone

I wait on it

It does not produce aphorisms

I picture the murder-stone in
other people’s houses or apartments or townhomes

I wonder which aphorisms are
sliding out of their murder-stones

Smart knowledge sliding out like
thin strips of typed-on paper

What meaningful observations
are occurring in other people’s households

They I hope have the talent to
bring life or meaning to the murder-stone

The murder-spot is an invisible
energy that continues to rock

That continues to disappear

That continues to ruminate in the
kitchens families homes

A death or a murder disappears

It becomes a story

Best case scenario the people left
standing make it into a story with some type of good

And eventually they put it to rest
so they or it can rest

Eventually into history and into
the ground

Best case scenario it disappears

And doesn’t continue to pulsate
like an invisible energy or a weighting pain or an ongoing fear or a persistent and
inscrutable stone




Statues or knotted ropes or scored stone or magnetic tapes or marked paper or grooved plastic or painted fibers or braided filaments
Are devices for storing information across time

A person is a device
For storing information across time

The parent melts or dissolves
And up springs the child

A person

Is a phenomenal device
That assembles itself from dirt and air

The Greek gods of ancient history
And the Sumerian gods of ancient history

In the distance at the far edge of time

With familiar shoulders elbows ears and eyes

Their crisp or frail emotions
Coursing down like cobwebs or hair

Is how it feels

To enter the river of human history


May drizzle a warm sweet attitude
When discussing their handsome children

Having replicated myself
Personhood will reassemble in my children

I could desiccate and die
Having assembled some children


EMILY BLUDWORTH DE BARRIOS is the author of Splendor, a book of poems from H_NGM_N Books, and Extraordinary Power, a chapbook from Factory Hollow Press. The poems above appear in the chapbook, Women, Money, Children, Ghosts, from Sixth Finch. Emily’s poems have most recently been published in Jellyfish, New Delta Review, The Nervous Breakdown, Sixth Finch, and Tender. She was born in Houston and raised in Egypt, the United States, and Venezuela; she currently lives in Houston. More information can be found at www.emilybludworthdebarrios.com.

Read more by Emily Bludworth de Barrios

Three poems in B O D Y
Poem at Sixth Finch
Poem at The Nervous Breakdown
Two poems in jellyfish magazine