By: Anthony Aguero
I’m Looking at the Trees
I’m slicing through a ripe avocado,
Splitting the thing in two & ripping
Out the bulky seed. I’m in love with
The hand that cuts into it.
Father’s hands.
I’m getting news I don’t want to hear
But I listen anyway. I’m looking at
The trees & I slit a cut on my palm
— clumsy me. Little surprises here
& there, no monkeys in the tree
& so what that I’m about to cry.
Let me, let me. I’m whipping up a
Lunch for me, myself, & I.
There’s a buzzing happening
In my ear. My dad’s gone.
I sit down. I take the news.
I’m cutting slits into this fruit
That doesn’t taste sweet. I’m bitter
No more. I’m looking at the trees
& it’s looking back. I’m in love
With these hands. I’m getting along
Just fine I want to say, but I cry
& that startles me. I’m not okay
But, yes, lunch is all prepared.
Most Alive
After Ross Gay
The train moves at a terminal pace.
I’m going back home to Los Angeles
Where the sun always shines
& people are so busy left & right. Let’s
Not think about that just yet
Because the rev of the engine
Sounds like what I think the sun might
Coo like if we just paid attention.
I’m tired of the moon & it’s incessant
Need for closure. I’m not sleeping,
No, not quite yet. I’ve too much to say.
My neck is too stiff & I need a hand.
My legs are quite restless & I want to shake
Myself til, damnit, we’re dancing now
& the sun has blanketed over me. Let me
Say what I have to say: a hum sits
At the back of my throat.
I’ve been so afraid of it until now —
This moment, this little wiggle of the tonsil,
That swinging rose-sac. Oh, oh!
I’m vibrating all the way back to where I live.
We’re plucking oranges from thin-air
& let’s take this moment empty of doubt.
This palm tree doesn’t even belong here,
& maybe it’s coincidence I feel most alive
Tap-tap-tapping my sole
To the thought of stranger’s kiss.
Ya, ya! We’re in love when the stranger
Offers his seat to the couple in a filled train.
Ya, ya! We’re most alive & the birds are chirping.
I don’t want to keep you long. We’re home.
Anthony Aguero is a queer writer in Los Angeles, CA. His work has appeared, or will appear, in the Carve Magazine, Rhino Poetry, 14 Poems, Redivider Journal, Maudlin House, and others. He has received two Pushcart Prize nominations and has his first forthcoming collection of poetry, Burnt Spoon Burnt Honey, with Flower Song Press.
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