Poetry
Andrea Castillo

Photo Credit: Molly/moominmolly

Outside his mother’s house, Luna trees hang over my car
like owl wings in flight. He tells me he can control
his dreams. In the front seat, our arm hair

mingling. We smoke Marlboros. He says Try it sometime,
baby. I tell him about the time I gave a girl an orgasm
with my painted pink toenails and the smell, blood

in the sun, got me high. Are you a lesbian now? Maybe
I am and it’s probably because you make me bend over
in high red heels that cradle my feet like a bear

trap. You spank your stomach, pursing your chapped lips
in the shape of an O. No I’m not a lesbian but I wish
you would brush your teeth before kissing me. His mother

scowls at my broken Volkswagen through the front window
between the Lunas. I spread my hairy legs, hang them
outside the open window. Drag on my cigarette—ash floats.

Andrea Castillo is a Creative Writing and English and American Literature undergrad at University of Texas at El Paso. She spends most of her time reading and writing. Some of her favorite contemporary authors and poets include Mary Gaitskill, Bret Easton Ellis, and Sharon Olds. Email: alcastillo2[at]miners.utep.edu