Self

When all thats left here is an ocean,
I will step back and look and thank my God.
For every wave there is a new start,
and no one here remains the same.

When I come across your new bones
I will place them in my hands
Two pieces will form a shoulder
and three curves will make your spine
Two many pieces make us cloudy
and different than you or I

And if I asked you what you thought
I think you’d laugh at me and say
Too much sadness on your saddle
Keep going right ahead

To say that I am grateful
for your companionship on this trestle
would be like us looking for that lost train;
the engine parts are rusted
and there is no way she will start again

For what we beg and risk and lose
matter no more
something endless
something fragile
something that may never, never come

So I will walk and I will smile
about gold wires in the dark
and how they shine
and how they spark
that gleam
that lies to my heart and makes it feel bigger than it is

An organ that comes in so many shapes
has the same god damn purpose:
to wake up in that field of tall brown grass
and have that person put you back together again





About the Poet: Amory E. Casto currently lives in Austin, TX and is working on her third screenplay. She writes poetry here and there to keep it jazzy. She loves puzzles and her cat, Harriet.

Self

One day I would like to have a collection of murices
a portraiture of the present
A perfect description of an object
The most precise of the shells I’d say

So easy it seems to call a thing a thing
but I often confuse what is elegant and
and what is profound with what is barely known
a teapot can always be polished
refined
made less of a burden

For that reason I will never wonder where I was
when great things happened
I will rely on paper and dust
an old broken sundial and of course
the tiny tiny holes in my marrow
Hips have always been cabinets for space
for loves
for sadness
and all things in between

I am a lucky girl who forgets she is a woman
who forgets she she has things to offer
who forgets she is more than a thing
more than a collection
more than a being
more than a daughter

I would like to go home to Carolina
And you must trust
I will not forget my shoes
Rocks and hills and a salt spray that sticks
It will always be that place to me
A definition of me
my speech
and my stories

Exposure is a dream I have
A way of sewing myself in place
Needle to skin will fasten everything
and keep a heavy head at bay

Please forgive me if I have said to much
the windows are open
and I am freezing




About the Author
Amory Casto: Growing up on the coast of North Carolina has always held a special place in my heart. I attended the College of Charleston in South Carolina and I relocated to Austin, Texas about four years ago. So, the South in particular has been the inspiration for most of my stories and poetry. I have always been a writer, but it has never felt more authentic than it does now. I have produced two of my plays here in Austin, and this summer I will spend time traveling in Puerto Rico working on my third screenplay.