American Quasar

David Campos, Maceo Montoya

• Publisher: Red Hen Press
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781597094481
• eBook ISBN: 9781597098724
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

American Quasar is a visual-textual collaboration between poet David Campos and artist Maceo Montoya. What began as an exploration of the precipice of violence evolved into an excavation of self, a deep meditation on how country, family, and trauma affect the ability to love. The images and words build a poetic space where the body is understood in both physical and celestial terms, giving a spiritual dimension to the collection's larger claim that the political is personal.

II

QUASARS

How an American Boy Becomes an Astronomer

He listens to his father groan

then laugh, then cry, then, silently, leave him

without the blues to carry him

to crack him open and spill his insides

all over a dancefloor. He casts a resurrection spell

without language; the whole body is a mouth.

He convinces himself he’s done the math

like Mrs. Hall taught in third grade; remember

to carry the remainders. He’s charted it out

on graph paper like in Mr. Borjas’s algebra class.

Though numbers cannot figure out all the dark matter

in his father’s eyes, his heart,

the center of his galaxy, and what happens after death

what happens when someone disappears

into star matter.

The Vocabulary of the Sky

Patience smells first of fury

and then molten iron

cooled in arctic waters.

It looks like your father’s face

as he passes, slower

than the blossoming between father and son.

Agony comes full of swagger,

wears too much cologne.

When you feel it swing through your hair

you remember the lice, his disapproval,

waiting to eat until you sleep.

You swear to be his opposite.

Ambition is perfect for flying kites

that won’t twirl and tangle

in your father’s stares; its direction clear

and as fulfilling as a glass of water

on the other side of the country.

The Catastrophe of Men

I learned to pray in an old cathedral

where angels wielded swords of fire.

The last time holy water dried on my forehead

my grandfather poured lizard blood

into the chalice of my body. Can you see

how broken my will is? Or is my will my undone body?

My undone faith? Did I quench the flames

when I swallowed the sword? Am I a house?

Am I my own house? Who will scream my name

trying to find me? Am I a cathedral?

If you enter me, can I relearn to pray?

Hombres somos lo que toman la sangre,

he said. But blood has many forms.

Hombres matan para comer, he said.

Murder is the language of our hands.

Seeking the Perfect Stargazing Location, the Perfect Trail

At night, I lay and cover myself with the ghost of nostalgia.

It’s warmer than blankets.

At night, cold is just another visitor I tend to

just like my mother taught me—offer it something to drink,

offer it something to eat. At night, I do. As I stare

at the arms of light, I give it my warmth and fogging breath,

my dried and cracked lips, the shirt on my back,

the savings I hide in the bundle of my clothes

until I’m naked and shivering under its feet.

Still, at night, the cold wants more. Unsatisfied,

it takes a lump of hair and then one dream—

cold has no shame. Sensing weakness it just takes.

And I give. Each night, I give

until the stars find shelter in the horizon

and the trails grow coarse with grass and loose stones.

I continue to walk unsure of every step, wondering

if I’d ever find a place to set my telescope

wondering if the place I’m going to has been taught the same thing

about tending to company. At night, I give it my hope,

the one thing I hold on to the ways stars cling to their crowns

and wishes made upon them. And I, who am just a body

whose breath is all the wind and silence,

who gives all my dreams and clothes and words and fire,

arrive. I ask for nothing.

And I, who am just a body, a thing like many things

we learn to love and unlove with ease

fin...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Acknowledgments
• Contents
• I American House Fire
• II Quasars
• Notes
• Biographical Notes