Three Poems by Chance Castro

Chance Castro

Chance Castro

Chance Castro is an MFA Poetry student at CSU San Bernardino where he has served as poetry editor for Ghost Town Literary Magazine. He is the founding poetry editor for The Great American Literary Magazine. He is previously published or forthcoming in RHINO, Santa Clara Review, The Pacific Review, Tin Cannon, The Chaffey Review, and elsewhere.

I want to hold your thumbs
until your eyes become spark plugs
and I can see myself standing
up straight behind our lawn mower
these hands remind me of pancakes
and high chairs and I can't change
a diaper it's nothing like a timing belt
I want to hold your thumbs
but not too tight like lug nuts
I wish I could call my friend
to order new brake pads, and rotors, that part
of me that's not organized
in my toolbox

Early Poem

Reflection: a method we share with herons
in thick noon’s mute conditions
the distorted photograph's water. a drop atop my cheek.

the blue draws to
our boat like marshmallows at the spoon
I was meaning to
create life with you,
but have been lacking canvas.

Each time I speak to memories of Birmingham and pizza slice
I start to believe I have history there
where willows passageway our journey
from the sticks its
clear that peace
is often found in liquid
or wood porch form.


Dad wants to know why he's got so much termites
and I want to know why he's got so much wood.
We're asking the same question:
Can we ignore the condition of his lymph nodes?
The mantle is heavy with dust and a peanut M&M dispenser.
Suddenly I'm seven, and sucking
on a butterscotch with his catcher's mitt over my left hand.
The day my father dies will be ordinary.
There will be no motorcades or letters from the mayor.
His forehead expresses his growing concern. The termites he says,
they're destroying everything.