Right-Here Man by Natalie Catasús

              he punctuates the days
              puts yellow hair in an envelope
              leaves dark ones in the sink

              he came from the backroad
              fireworks cracked the lush

              we sank into it
              mossed-over carriage house
              low swing of exhales
              still he calls himself Creekmouth
              call him
                        Atlanta Boy
              call him
                        Right Here
             call him
              his ear’s a nest
              I go to it
              see what others left behind
              you don’t want to be
              some nightingale
              pushing cold steaks on that wound
              left holding the bone
              when the meat’s gone
              but me I’m cockled rock
              rough and gold leaf uncurling

              woodworm eats
              the corners off the globe

              Right-Here Man
              he’s not for long
              his ideas they’re winding

              my fingers
              little worms
              at the air
Natalie Catasús is a Miami-born poet, essayist, and editor. Her writing has appeared in Jai-Alai Magazine, Denver Quarterly, Art Practical, and Sightlines, and her collection of poems, Flight, is forthcoming from Volumes Volumes in 2017. Her current projects explore the legacy of the Cuban balsero phenomenon. She lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area.