Adrian Castro

REUNION

Again you've reached that secret nook
that stream where words mix to bond you to me
Or is it the sentimental mood of your voice
maybe the song the moon was beaming
silently almost full
upon a blank page
upon your letters
It could be the void I feel
every night before sleep
that feeling I keep failing to tell you about
every night since you've been gone
Before sleep I turn to feel your skin
your stomach
the skin between your thghs
as I trace your lips with my fingers
but every night you've been gone

But tonight
though the moon will beam almost full
again
alas it will be different
she will shine on yr lips
on mine
when they meet
long before sleep

FLOWERS, PHOTO, A GLASS OF WATER FOR OCTAVIO

I just heard the news about
Octavio pájaro de paz con pico de palabra

Last night I was worhng on the city prose poem
(serious attempt but immature compared to yours)
I wonder of our timing:
did your last breath escape as I read aloud
"your hungry city which bears mother-like
but also devours us"
was it when I wrote
"where the conspiracy of language bounces off heads . . . "
when I wrote
"where elements from one mix to become. . . "

It was two years ago to date when we met
under circumstances you
couldn't possibly remember
there were the multitudes who vibrated
with your just-sung lines
un mestizaje de imagen

Back in '97 they said you also died
yet you proved them follied
But today is not a game
not only because the radio said so
but because my picture of Pablo smiled last night
as if greeting an estranged friend
as I reread "Hablo de la ciudad" so intently

HOODOO WHISPER
--for Quincy Troupe

Say it in sheets of sound
power of language with big fists of teeth
singing secrets from the crossroads
saying secrets from the hoodoo
way up in East St. Louis soil
the groove of alphabets
in the blues of a new atlas
way up in a silent way
like the sho-nuff shaman man you am

Say it because
the pact was sealed in the other world-
There are some
who could claim the word for hisself
who would wrap it in red cloth
could caress it along fire
like the marriage between flame & light
who dip it in a repique of thunder
make yr head flicker with the spirit of rhythm rhythm of spirit
as if Shangó hisself
had weaved you a red kufi

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©2006 by Adrian Castro

 

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