Albino Carrillo

Albino Carrillo is an Associate Professor of Poetry and Creative Writing in the English Department of the University of Dayton. His one book is IN THE CITY OF SMOKING MIRRORS, published by the University of Arizona Press. Over the past 21 years, his work has appeared in national literary journals such as The Americas Review, Puerto Del Sol, The Antioch Review, Blue Mesa Review, and Columbia.

Published on 07/10/2004

            The last dance on Bayita Lane
            was like the fading night
            blooming cerus' memory, like
            the hothouse uprooted, replaced
            by cheap cane furniture

            The last dance on Bayita Lane
            was like the fading night
            blooming cerus' memory, like
            the hothouse uprooted, replaced
            by cheap cane furniture
            bent by dumb hands. You see
            I had to steal something
            of that flower to locate
            my stupid fate--there was Tom
            who ate only greenleaf salad
            because of the Haldol he was taking.
            And whether you remember me or not
            sitting with a teak bowl
            of upturned ashes on my head,
            there was brood in my eyes then
            and like a spider I made something else
            of your habits, your gestures,
            the small white hands tearing
            bits of paper where ever we went--
            leaving trails from napkins, sugar
            packets, any marker to lead you back
            beyond the nervousness of your present task.



Copyright © Albino Carrillo, 2004. All Rights Reserved.