by José Angel Araguz
August 2017
This is a story about a walk on the beach on my birthday.
As I walked and looked over the Pacific, I hated myself.
I hated myself and hated the ocean, the water turning on itself.
I could only think of how the water in Corpus Christi turned over on itself.
As I walked and looked over the Pacific, I hated myself.
The hurricane turned my mother’s voice on the phone into water.
I could only think of how the water in Corpus Christi turned over on itself.
She feared that the door to her house would be pulled off its hinges.
The hurricane turned my mother’s voice on the phone into water.
The hurricane turned the door-hinges into fingers tight around a cellphone.
She feared that the door to her house would be pulled off its hinges.
I worried her voice would drop into the static that edged our conversations.
The hurricane turned the door-hinges into fingers tight around a cellphone.
The wind on the Oregon coast became the wind I heard behind my mother’s voice.
I worried her voice would drop into the static that edged our conversations.
Our conversations turned over in my mind for months after.
The wind on the Oregon coast became the wind I heard behind my mother’s voice.
I hated myself and hated the ocean, the water turning on itself.
Our conversations turned over in my mind for months after.
This is a story about a walk on the beach on my birthday.
José Angel Araguz is the author of seven chapbooks as well as four poetry collections, most recently An Empty Pot’s Darkness. His work has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Poetry International, and The Bind, among other places. He blogs at The Friday Influence. With an M.F.A. from New York University and a Ph.D. from the University of Cincinnati, he is an assistant professor of English at Suffolk University, where he also serves as editor-in-chief of Salamander Magazine.