Tag Archives: Jose Araguz

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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How it Works
by Jose Araguz

The woman lying under the tree was once a spider
whose slight movements speak the history of appetite.
The lovers in the movie theatre were once those vines
tangled and knotted on the sides of buildings.
One is never born again, one goes back.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 4.

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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Instead of a Postcard
by Jose Araguz

for Nohemi

Friends: I apologize for addressing you all at once like this, and for not calling or writing a letter. Remember, talking: that’s what the bars are for. If you don’t hear from me it is because of a conversation I am having either with myself or some streetlamp of a man, posted in his ways every night. I have moved; you may guess where and how, and tell me what life you would have me lead. Some follow their hearts; I follow the moon. Allow me my phases and you will have your tides. I write tonight not to tell you of a new city but to share what the new city would say of me, and seeing as I do not speak the language of cities, I send this image as proof that part of me is yet alive: a smile, a dress, the light rising off the back of a hand covering my eyes.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, 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.

See all items about Jose Araguz

Visit Jose Araguz’s contributors page.