Today for National Poetry Month, I selected a poem from Sandra M. Castillo’s Eating Moors And Christians.
Please share your thoughts on this poem below.
The bus driver speeds around
primitive streets, curves, circles, spheres,
the geometry of life.
He turns, swerves without looking,
without thinking about the blue below
our yellow, rectangular world speeding
towards the unknown.
I am thinking about Peruvian hieroglyphics,
abstract shapes, visions in an earth
I fail to recognize for she is the stranger
she might have seemed across time,
unidentified bodies of water.
This is an ancient city.
This is a mind map,
and I am the hydrometer
of the round, blue circle inside me
that wants to learn to measure water
without falling in.
I look at the palm of my hand:
You are here. You are here.
The driver falters on a turn, a stone,
and we spin, yellow into blue,
and I go fishing for familiar faces
who traveled with me
to foreign countries
above the sea level of our lives
and float across waters I have never known
to save something in me
that has never learned to swim.
Interested in more poems from Sandra M. Castillo? Pick up a copy of her book, Eating Moors and Christians from the CavanKerry Press store.