Dorsía Smith Silva
And now as the three iguanas
stop in the middle of the road
to catch the nuggets of sunlight,
you stop your car
and stare at their bodies: bright neon green
beasts with fierce stripes. Their
tails are long sleek ropes
that anchor them to the ground.
Should you call out to them as instinct?
Their unabashed eyes seem resolute,
locked into the rising warmth from the
You do not want to think about it,
how it would be if you had
pressed on and watched their bodies
shift into shapeless fragments. So,
you hurry besides the iguanas, squat down,
as they sit like ancient rocks,
steady messengers of the world.
About the Author: Dorsía Smith Silva is a Full Professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras and her poems have been published in Apple Valley Review, Bright Sleep Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, The B’K, WINK, Poetry Quarterly, POUI: Cave Hill Journal of Creative Writing, Adanna, Rigorous, Shot Glass Journal, Tonguas, and the book Mothers and Daughters.