ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

FOUR POEMS
by Guillermo Castro


SELF-PORTRAIT, AGES 7 TO 0

7.
The nun has managed to herd us in two neat, almost polite rows. A girl standing behind me - the only one not wearing a tie - places her hand on my head, as if in blessing.

6.
I hear the story of the lady whose breasts would be dried of milk so she couldn't feed her baby. It turns out a serpent was visiting her at night and helping itself to the nipples.

5.
Goofy, Pluto, Donald, Happy and the Big Bad Wolf secure their places, each carrying an unlit candle. They'll shiver when they catch their reflection in the knife I'll take to the cake.

4.
I've overcome my fear of frogs! But gray, featureless mannequins are still beyond me.

3.
I'm shorter than the kitchen table where Mother slams her keys.


2.
Icecream cone icecream cone icecream cone

1.
Buddha at the wheel of the family's Jeep, smiling as if he's just gotten his learner's permit.

0.
The barefoot woman stares at the ocean before her water breaks in the house she hates.

PRAYER

Lord, prescribe me some rest.

My head, the heaviest part of my body

Is the most sleepy one, too

And offers its clean brow for Your Signature.

Receive me, Lord, welcome me.

Only half-way into my day-off, Lord,

You fill it with clusters of angels.

Perched on the ruins of a torn-down wall

They make great lovers, always

Watching, scheming, shedding.

Lord, you're callling for me to go nap.

Wasps hesitate under the black grapes,

Search for prime real estate in the yard.

Lord, even ants filing up the olive tree

Marvel at my hunter-red, heart-red lips.

Lord, break in some good news promptly,

Kindly break in these new shoes for me.

Anoint me, Lord, sprinkle with sugar

The buttered baguette of childhood

That turns into my pillow at night.




AFTERMATH

I know
of the solitude he savors
in cafés,
reading a book.

Here I too
do the same,
seeking solace
in the verse
of others.

It's my way
to keep him
company
as I blow
steam off
this cup of coffee,

a dispersed
kiss
to a ghost
amid strangers.

A GUILLERMO CASTRO POEM

A piece of wisdom is all I ask,
which could come out of
a package --take a bite, stranger

then replace it in the refrigerator.

I crave words, reticent
like this crescent moon
peeking from behind a door.

I say this is my poem, my life,
the rose in its strange vase
withering with the night,
the bare, punished bottom of my past.