loss, n.

a fireplace heats your head | & the first house you lived stretches | your memory your past | childhood | at night—

you believed a fat man in a red suit brought you gifts

—despite | you lied to your mother seven times that year | despite—

you bit your tongue until the taste | to keep from spilling:

  1. how a man in your best friend’s house asked you
  2. to strip | you climbed | his shirtless | torso in your white under-
  3. wear | the brown fur | in his stomach | the nipple
  4. standing hard­—to your touch

loss, v.


how he unloads me:

discharge on the belly—

small whimper & my body

burning water



vessel | &

wreckage |

swollen wood |

About Post Author

Aldo Amparán

Aldo Amparán is a queer poet from the sister cities of El Paso, Texas, and Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico. He is a CantoMundo Fellow and finalist for the Alice James Award. His work appears in, or is forthcoming from Gulf Coast, The Journal, Kenyon Review Online, Ninth Letter, Poetry Northwest, Washington Square Review, and elsewhere. See aldoamparan.com.