by Tanya Castro
I too am silent I think about being unseen but then I watch how the umbrella curves, taken as well I think too much, and God, it takes too much of my time I am searching for my tongue I am lost I think the moon follows me & I am seen I watch it break & I feel it break above my head Instead, I think I want to howl I am still lost I see eyes in the sky I think about how light I feel in swallowed night I see how that must look, but there is no one here In retrospect, I cried too much when my mami used to comb my hair I am looking at you I think the feeling of mist is what walking across heaven feels like I think about how the body struggles with rebirth I see myself in the newborn sky I sit to howl but I think about singing I am thinking about the mist & heaven & waiting I think there’s something about walking through fog & being taken I think about translation & my tongue sweeps across my teeth I keep on walking, the umbrella still on my mind I think I think too much & time is running out I am walking into the fog & God, I am walking & I am walking
Tanya Castro is a writer from Oakland, California. She holds an MFA in Poetry from Saint Mary’s College of California. Tanya’s work is a Best of Microfiction 2022 winner as well as nominated for Best of the Net 2021. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Acentos Review, Lost Balloon and Mason Jar Press.
Agape Review 