I stepped out for a bit
Into the hospital garden.
The fountain wasn’t running
And the plastic Koi fish
Stood stagnant on poles.
Lunch break tables held
Flipped over chairs like perched birds
Under muzzled umbrellas.
No sunlight climbed the walls,
No wind hissed into the city.
Then the rain crooned softly,
As if to fertilize the slits
Between the tiles of the labyrinth,
Raindrops like phantom eggs,
A suggestion of resilient amphibians.
I took a deep breath
And walked back in.
Oranos
Brian Duran-Fuentes is a medical interpreter. He was born and raised in Mexico City but has lived most of his life in Texas at this point. He is constantly thinking about dreams. Sometimes, he remembers them while interpreting, which is odd because he tends to lose himself while he’s fully engaged. He likes his job.