What You Were Meant to Be by Anthony Aguero
isn’t this, but is. The comma, for emphasis
because his life is immediate down to his nesting,
small breath. We quit speaking once,
when the syphilis was back, during winter —
never snow touching the ground. Only semen,
coconut milk licking his lips.
I told him This isn’t it — we’re at it again
and the moon is out tonight. I could see him,
again; this homeland is terrifying
when each scar is put there by the other.
The meat of his throat is blue. I pick him
apart, trying to find a way to heaven
before the pile of ashes and scorched trees
and rotted neoprene and bird tracks
running the bark of his arm, again. Beyond
elsewhere, he closes his eyes. Not this.
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.
