Magic Breathing
BY COURT CASTAÑOS
We didn’t have fireflies
flickering summer’s arrival song
in old jam and jelly jars, and I wish
I’d seen them rise from the tall grass
mistaken them for sprites, magic
breathing. We were washed
in the orange glow of the street
lights higher than we could ever imagine
climbing with our rough hands and
thick, summer feet. By June
you could crack an egg on the searing
tar of your road and watch it blossom
sunny side up until the slap
of burnt yolk sent you running
to the cool relief under
the maple tree, where the sun
couldn’t find you and the light
was mashed to cool green
like grass that’s been bruised
and tugged loose by dancing feet
in holy sprinkler water.
As a kid I could chant all
the priest’s calls and responses, sign
the cross over my small body and
say Grace five-times-fast,
but in the young nucleus of my soul
I knew the real power was in the count
to thirty on a moonless night while the
street exhales it’s last fiery breath.
My body in flight to the cavern
in the arms of my orange tree
where my heart would howl
in ecstasy as I praised the dim glow
of the street lights and the holy
sanctity of bare feet running
in a pack of wild kids, playing
hide and seek in the dark.
Donate: The poet requests that donations be sent to RAICE’s LEAF Fund. The LEAF fund ensures that children coming to this country can receive quality legal representation both in detention centers and once they are released. In 2018, our specially-trained team provided ongoing legal counsel to 400 children, and more than 4,500 children received training to help them understand their rights here in the United States. You can donate via this link.
Court Castaños has work currently published in The Nasiona and the San Joaquin Review. New poems forthcoming in Boudin, of The McNeese Review. Castaños grew up adventuring along the Kings River in the San Joaquin Valley and now resides in Santa Cruz, California.