John Manuel Arias is a gay Costa Rican/Uruguayan writer and poet from Washington, D.C., currently living in San José, Costa Rica. He studied Literature and Creative Writing at Pace University in NYC. “The Writing’s on the Wall” is excerpted from his debut collection of poetry, ‘¡I’D RATHER SINK—!’, forthcoming from Red Paint Hill Press in 2017. His work has appeared in Rogue Agent Journal, Rust + Moth, and the James Franco Review, with new poetry from his collection appearing in the forthcoming issues of the After Happy Hour Review, Tinderbox Journal, Polaris Magazine, After the Pause, Red Paint Hill, and Crack the Spine.
I’m 8 / 20 in twelve years / and the showerhead
explodes / its sparks are tea leaves that tell my
future / coffee grounds at the opening of my
stomach where your name won’t escape / they
predict an earthquake / see the number 6 / grimace
at the sight of a feathered serpent / a boa around
your throat / Apophis in all his splendor / dancing to
some Destiny’s Child song that’s lost its rhythm
I catch fire as easily as my mother’s ex-husband / I
twirl / trying to get away / smash my tailbone again-
st the shower bar / my grandmother clings onto
when her blood pressure reaches 222 over 12
in between the tiles / there are sweet roaches / drain
flies / like feathered serpents / boas constricting / I
shed my skin / look up closely at the sparks / cry out
your name / purge it / lick it up like coffee grounds
because there’s none left in the kitchen cupboards
I’m 8 / waiting for the world to end / 20 / and
watching it end as gracefully as humanly possible
my future / it was definitely spelled backwards in
Spanish / maybe in Spanglish I can pronounce it
rightsideup / can pronounce you rightsideup too
I’m 8 / Apophis gives me much-needed fashion
advice / mint is totally in this year / always wear
lace panties for your clients (they prefer it over
jockstraps) / when you’re getting tests done / be-
come your grandmother (but / maybe not / because
she hates having her blood drawn / it looks red and
doodled and messy in those little tubes)
at night / he dresses us up / for our last sex party
then in the morning for an elementary school choir
performance / at my classmate’s first funeral
I’m 20 / hyperventilating your name / my ribs have
never felt so much like fingers / ready to swing
open my chest / like a music box playing that
Destiny’s Child song / ¿what were the lyrics?
I’m 8 / the whole entire church loves my solo of
Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho / 20 / and at a
sudden loss for words
I’m 8 / naked in a burning shower / 20 / and my
artery swallows a bone needle / pulled straight out
from my chest
I’m 8 / burning naked in a shower / 20 / and I can
almost guess what you’re going to say
I’m 8 / you’ll give it to me later / in 12 years / by
surprise / like a birthday present / 20 / and I swear I
met you once when I was 8 / there / inside the
emptied out belly of a thunderstorm
I’m 8 / I read the sparks all wrong / confuse
VIDA / with / SIDA / and / vice versa / 20 / and I
can finally read you rightsideup / in Spanglish I can
also be read rightsideup / that is / if you want to
I’m 8 / Apophis powders his face / slips on fireproof
pumps / short-circuits the showerhead / lip-syncs
my future until he can’t remember the lyrics
20 / and I don’t remember them either
I’m 8 / I won’t make it
20 / and I still won’t make it
I’m 8 again / 20 now / and Apophis keeps on
singing / ¿what’s the big deal / kid? / it’ll make no
difference if it’s today / or in 12 years /¿right?