Corpus Christi
by Jose Araguz

Summer’s last hope on the edge of the window screen:

the roach who flits his wings and tries,

higher, then lower, to get through. The rest content

to scour books and hide in the copper

of my jar of pennies. Or dangle off coat hangers

in the closet. Or sleep a dark sleep

in the corners of the ceiling. Wherever stuck—no twitch

of antennae to translate the match struck

for the oil lamp’s wick, or my belt buckle’s chime,

or even the sound of pages turned

as a reason to move – they become shadow. This late,

I hardly dare to move either.

The scratching at the screen dies. This one is learning,

has smacked himself to frustration.

Will he, like the rest, lay down in what there is,

and become shadow? Will I be here,

my brown wings tucked away, with only these focused

forms of attention to confide in?

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 3.

Jose Angel AraguzJose Angel Araguz has had work most recently in Barrow Street, Gulf Coast, Slipstream, and Right Hand Pointing. He is presently pursuing a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of Cincinnati.

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