how to lose your shadow 

échale maker’s mark in the ponche, sip
cinnamon-tinted café in the year’s final twilight, split 

cigarillos in the hours before dawn, cut loose ends in the morning. bring 

white roses to the wake, stick pink carnations in the vase at home, throw 

moisture in the air, buy
plants to drink it up, float 

thoughts to no one in particular, keep 

something cooking
in the air fryer at all times. 

drip gin into the sprite. no — drizzle sprite into the gin. grit 

tightly your teeth, wipe
your spit-dripping chin when you 

wake, take
two pills when you wake, break 

the silence with yourself when you wake, say 

good morning to no one in particular. turn 

nocturnal if you need to.    

MARC HUERTA OSBORN

Marc Huerta Osborn is a writer and educator living in Alameda, California. His poetry has appeared in Rust & Moth, The Acentos Review, Ghost City Review, Juked, Defunkt, and elsewhere. His biggest creative influences are pelicans, pozole, and the ocean.