Poem by C. Aloysius Mariotti
saint de los milagros
I'm-a shape shifter, man – a common nagual. When the moon opens in the Mexican sky, I cross over canals to eat your heart – I scrabble your skin and open the wounds that pound so hard for release into new inner orbits. How can you circle a sun you cannot see? I bring it to you, friend. I lay it in your palm for you to learn to watch without burning your eyes. I bring you to where you never were, down sharp corridors so you may swallow the great wonder of life and death. But I'm just a man in the dry daytime desert. I have a wife and child and struggles. I have no money and a mother with cancer. I have a pain in my heart that pulses when I drop my feet into the hot river behind my home, and the prattle of water over the large stones floods my hope for escape – my throbbing heart gets further squeezed so that it becomes lead in the liquid below me.
So I stay until the night, when I move with haste toward the bloodletting. I pounce on you as if it was me. And I give to you what I cannot give to myself,
that beautiful escape to spots beyond this consciousness, to a chance to see a light beyond the curve and spiral.
C. Aloysius Mariotti was born in Pennsylvania and raised in Arizona. He studied creative writing at the University of Arizona in Tucson, where he also listened to a lot of Rush, Radiohead, and PJ Harvey. He resides in Massachusetts with his wife Kristen and crazy Westie Bella Francine.