poetry by guillermo filice castro
Mulberry Literary Fresh Voices Award Runner-up

Yo Recuerdo

My eyes sinking into Uncle’s illustrated
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Oxygen
running out for the crew. Conseil breathing
into his master’s mouth the last molecules of air. My
own gasp, the quickened engine in my chest as one man’s
lips almost touched another’s. As if I were falling
into a crevasse, the unnamed thing I thought was 
within grasp. The huge gale outside my window.
A tingle crawling up my leg, my shock at finding
a caterpillar under the covers. Boneless fleecy finger, how
did you get in there? My scream. The gelid weather
in this leather bound world as the Nautilus broke free 
from the ocean floor, rammed the ice above. 

Identity

I’m neither,
something in
between, beyond, in
the air above, absolutely 

dull, speech full of
commas, breathing &
taking pause, accented
tongue, I go under, cut
my hand in the shipwreck,

don’t touch that,

the mirror that broke,
the shattered creature
once reflected there
swimming away, 
not me,
that at times drifty, 
limb-y, dancer-y thing,

goggles dropping to
the bottom, blood 
dispersed, vessels,
bubbles, words burst

into tears in my ears, 
blind rain, driver brain,
eyes nude as grapes
when pinched 

open, love,

what else could I offer you than
what I have seen & 
come to shed, multiple

selves, broken skin,
bitter oils,
a sweet pulp
tasted long ago.

Guillermo Filice Castro is a queer poet and photographer born and raised in Argentina. He’s the author of the chapbooks, Mixtape for a War and Agua, Fuego. His work appears in Allium, Barrow Street, Brooklyn Rail, Court Green, Fugue, The Normal School, The Tishman Review, and many more. He lives with his husband in New Jersey.