Broken Sonnet for My Situationship

By Gavin Garza

underripe        you noted         grapes and bouquets
    you said yes to            slow affection
                                                    small gestures     mostly
      i want to love
                                     as so much of myself
      has not                   your bed was warm as fluorescent
and you left the marigolds in your sedan
        cold                 h̶o̶n̶e̶y̶           i’m tender
                                                                           as a lip
my tongue          my breath          my spit          my skin
     to take me all in
                                         just to leave your options
open       what could your greed for more
                                                                              want

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Playing Video Games with Daniel Johnston on the Planet Neptune

By Gavin Garza

After Jose Hernandez Diaz

From the way we were buoyant, you would have thought methane was water. Daniel took the loveseat with his cat, Spunky, while I took the beanbag. My controller was discolored around the L and R buttons—they were crunchy to press. He had a gummy worm dangling from his mouth at all times but was always offering the bag. Daniel was good at Mario Kart. Damn good. There wasn't any beating him. He had this chuckle every time he won, something between accomplishment and rehearsal. We couldn't hear the TV over the planet's howling, even at max volume. The tempest was always present to make you feel dejected and I thought about blaming my controller. It was maybe my 10th time losing on Donut Plains when Spunky went under the blanket, then purred onto his lap. The warmest echo that night was Daniel's laughter. How his voice cut through the wind, I don’t know.

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Marine Layer

By Gavin Garza

                                          Another FaceTime with my little sister Trin’,
 
I dash three flights of stairs
                   from my dorm to the roof
                                                 just to catch some air.
 
The deck, breathless, is acne’d with half-spilled Modelos.
 
 
I ask Trin’ how they've been                 and she spaces out.
 
 
San Francisco looks like the silhouette of a city.
             The ghost of a freight boat churns its horn.
 
       She asks about my knee and I say it's fine.
 
             A clock tower dongs as the white speckles with mustard.
The view is more J. M. W. Turner than weather.
 
 
I tell her it's always like this here                  and Trin’ calls it nice.

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​Gavin Garza was raised in the Institute of Basic Life Principles, a Christian cult. Today, he is a Best of the Net nominated Chicano poet studying at the University of California, Berkeley. His work has appeared in One Art, MudRoom, The Acentos Review, and several more. Garza serves as a staff editor for the Berkeley Poetry Review and stays rooted to Fresno, California. Instagram: @gavinopoet