by Yaccaira Salvatierra
In most cities, you can hear us at night.
Our bodies, without our shadows,
cannot be seen.
Our skateboards tremble & staccato
on concrete & asphalt.
You can hear the cadence of searching.
We move beneath security cameras.
There are a lot of eyes looking for us.
Paranoia has set its eyes on us.
We carry digital cameras to capture
our shadows & bring them back
to our bodies.
Pictures are empty of us.
Videos are empty of us.
Cities try to empty themselves of us.
Yaccaira Salvatierra’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in POETRY Magazine, The Nation, Huizache, Narrative, Puerto del Sol, and Rattle, among others. Her honors include the Dorrit Sibley Award for achievement in poetry, winner of the Puerto del Sol Poetry Prize, and the Lucille Clifton Memorial Scholarship as a fellow at the Community of Writers Workshop; a VONA fellow; and a recipient of a residency at Hedgebrook. She has been a finalist of various awards such as the Frontier Poetry Award for New Poets and the Lit Fest Emerging Writer Fellowship in poetry. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Best of the Net. She lives in Oakland, California where she is a dedicated educator to historically marginalized and resilient communities.