Mary Robles




Your voice on the road.


Me and pale sandals

shielding my eyes from the sun.

In the vision I had of myself in childhood


O wore a sling of leather

O a woman in control


Never these ices, muddy on a dud hill

in Ohio.

The goats bashful and ripping steam


shitting out endless

pulsing pellets.

Little Cross



They said that he drank,

and so I found his grave.

Jutting from sand


like a bat’s wing/ tin

burnt green in the sun that comes from Mexico.

Oh lowly brushfires,

Tio Francisco

who holds the child


where the land flattens

into this dismal smoke.

who could sleep in this heat,

in this dazzled folkland

of skeletons–


I dreamt the mountains

and the beast in the mission

and the cat’s eye dangling


from its wet socket.

The transparent

soul of a child. Roadrunners

run here.


MARY ROBLES was born in El Paso, TX and earned a BFA in Creative Writing from Bowling Green State University. She was the recipient of a 2016 Creative Workforce Fellowship from CPAC in Cleveland, OH and serves as the Cleveland Support Group Leader for Animals Asia, an animal welfare charity based in Hong Kong. Her poetry has been published in Prairie MarginsPaper and Ink, Cactus Heart, The Rio Grande Review, and is forthcoming in Salt Hill.