Bare Root Review::Spring 2006

Teeth Marks

My arms were covered in teeth marks.
Some old, some new, some gargantuan, some miniscule.
I used to do nothing about it.
I just let them accumulate, creating craters
and divots leaving my arms with the texture
of a golf ball.
Brail sleeve tattoos so to say.
My arms became weak, and carrying these teeth marks
began to take its toll.
I brushed my arms off onto my desk one night.
Teeth marks piled high.
My arms were bare, and I became reacquainted with
the mocha colored skin that I hadn’t seen in quite some time.
I took a hand full and
pitched them against my bedroom wall.
Ejecta is formed upon impact,
splattering brilliant colors in all directions.
I spend the night covering my walls,
using debris as decoration.
Layers upon layers form, each mark telling a story.
Colors overlap, creating primaries, secondaries, and tertiaries.
I recycle what’s been thrown.
Peeling off handfuls of the mixture,
I mold it into music, words, and art.
Then back on the wall,
splattering onto new and untouched surfaces.
Waiting to be molded again.
Now I wait, and listen for that chomping sound,
and when I do, I roll up my sleeves,
because I have painting to do.

Xavier Pastrano is a Sioux Falls, S.D. native who just recently graduated from Southwest Minnesota State University. He is off at grad school pursuing his MA and PhD in creative writing. When he’s not writing poetry or short stories, he can usually be found attached to a guitar working on a new batch of songs. He looks forward to a career as a professor or a musician; whichever comes first…he’ll be happy with.	Channel Surfing September is a creepy month. It’s right up there with February with its weird ass spelling. Feb-ru-ary, what the hell kind of word is that. Sept, Sept, September…I’m losing my mind. If this is your brain, and this is your brain on drugs, then THIS is your brain at 2:00 in the morning after coming to the realization that you are graduating and you’re not exactly sure if Grad school is where you want to go, because you’re sick of homework and by moving on to the next educational level, you’re pretty much solidifying the fact that you will be doing homework for the next 5 years of your life. Holy shit… I’ve been doing homework for the past 17 years. From cutting out circles and gluing them to a stick to writing a paper on Henry Bergson’s “Introduction to Metaphysics.” Wow, I feel like I’m in one of those “Now What?” commercials. My mouth agape, my eyes looking off in the distance, and there’s that look on my face like either I just sharted my pants or I’ve just had an epiphany.	Teeth Marks My arms were covered in teeth marks. Some old, some new, some gargantuan, some miniscule. I used to do nothing about it. I just let them accumulate, creating craters and divots leaving my arms with the texture of a golf ball. Brail sleeve tattoos so to say. My arms became weak, and carrying these teeth marks began to take its toll. I brushed my arms off onto my desk one night. Teeth marks piled high. My arms were bare, and I became reacquainted with the mocha colored skin that I hadn’t seen in quite some time. I took a hand full and pitched them against my bedroom wall. Ejecta is formed upon impact, splattering brilliant colors in all directions. I spend the night covering my walls, using debris as decoration. Layers upon layers form, each mark telling a story. Colors overlap, creating primaries, secondaries, and tertiaries. I recycle what’s been thrown. Peeling off handfuls of the mixture, I mold it into music, words, and art. Then back on the wall, splattering onto new and untouched surfaces. Waiting to be molded again. Now I wait, and listen for that chomping sound, and when I do, I roll up my sleeves, because I have painting to do.