elementary school mornings,
walking across Brookshire Park,
wet shoes I ask my only brother:
Who wakes up early & waters the grass every morning??
he laughs– it’s not water, it’s dew, it’s what god does
I’m still walking across that field…
I resent that everything is whatever now
Maybe the stars are really just holes in the sky where all the real souls punched through
& the rest get planted back in the dirt to try again-
I’m making it out, I’m punching through
About the contributor: Christian Garduno edited the writing compilation Evolver and his own solo poetry collection Face, while a History undergraduate at the University of California, Berkeley. His work can also be read in Abstract Magazine, We Will Not Be Silenced, Riza Press, and Corpus Christi Writers 2019. He writes regularly at https://medium.com/@letsfly2000.? Christian Garduno currently lives and writes along the South Texas coast with his beautiful wife Nahemie & young son, Dylan.?
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