December 1, 2014 by The Citron Review
grandpa at the end had this texture of a WWI biplane – covered in fabric tensed over wooden ribs, a Victoria Cross pachuco…oye, siempre firme, he would still urge me, because las putas used to bow showing their cargo to the night drivers in zoot suits, boy…slowly, he became flammable, tomando, upright, pain over older pain, Sun shining through.
an elderly couple
is two old masseuses in silence at each other, burrowing for bones in these bodies all charted, all tunneled.
she ploughs too hard his trapezius, she knows it, to avenge transgressions she almost forgave then. they both labor at the legs first to break’em legs; then, the arms. and only then they take on the torso, beached there Mon-Sun
Huey & Blackhawk
Father and son lived lives in helicopters. which are lives not here nor there. lived in this liminality above ground and beneath the sky. up in the almost-divine, but never for too long.
helicopters, born at war with their own selves. tail rotor wrestling the main rotor’s torque. they lived a Charon’s life. cramped with the wounded, and the worse-than-wounded.
Got up with arms & legs. All four, need’em all limbs on, like a plane taking off, till the blessing o’ the cruising through the corridor, the stairs, and the marina.
I’m good when I move, like sharks.
Daniel Aristi was born in Spain. He studied French Literature and then Economics. He now lives in Botswana with his wife and two children, and two cats. Daniel’s work has been featured or is forthcoming in Berkeley Poetry Review, Cactus Heart and The Conium Review.