Castro Street

By PHILLIP WATTS BROWN

 

As through a prism, the city shifts
to rainbow. We cross into technicolor,

the famous marquee lipstick red
against blue sky. For the first time

without fear I hold my husband’s hand
in public, an act common here

as palm trees fanning in the sun.
Shops spill over with wigs and shot glasses,

big glossy books of erotica—
not how I imagined heaven,

but any freedom to breathe is paradise.
Up the steep street I float like Sisyphus

without a boulder, no divine punishment
to push. We are the gods here: whole

and holy, bodies glowing in the window
of a dim restaurant before we enter.

We order bread, olives, a glass of wine—
a still life in this light.

We make it last as long as we can.
Not like tourists tasting a final snapshot

but like lovers leaving a homeland,
passports in our pockets, salt on our tongues

savoring, with the time we have left,
a place where we belonged.

 

Phillip Watts Brown received his MFA in poetry from Oregon State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including The Common, Spillway, Tahoma Literary Review, Orange Blossom Review, Grist, Rust + Moth, and Longleaf Review. His poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes, as well as Best of the Net and Best New Poets honors. He and his husband live in northern Utah, where he works at an art museum. He also serves as a poetry editor for the journal Halfway Down the Stairs.

[Purchase Issue 22 here.]

Castro Street

Related Posts

The parthenon in Nashville

March 2024 Poetry Feature: New Poems by Our Contributors

MATT DONOVAN
On my flight to Nashville, after / telling me the Parthenon in his town was far better / than the one in Greece, the guy seated beside me / in the exit row swore that Athena was an absolute / can’t-miss must-see. Her eyes will see into your soul, / he said, no goddamn joke.

picture of a bible opened up

February 2024 Poetry Feature

CORTNEY LAMAR CHARLESTON
There was tear gas deployed without a tear. There were / rubber bullets fired from weapons that also fire lethal rounds. There were / armored vehicles steering through the streets of the capital that stars our maps. // What we saw was only new to the people it was new to.

Headshot of Anne Pierson Wiese

Sharp Shadows

ANNE PIERSON WIESE
On our kitchen wall at a certain time / of year appeared what we called the sharp / shadows. / A slant of western light found / its way through the brown moult of fire / escape hanging on to our Brooklyn rental / building for dear life and etched replicas / of everything