The Magician’s Foundling by Angel Leal
49 lines
Issue 2 (Spring/Summer 2023)
When you found me
you fed me with spells
painted on your
fingertips
& when you held me,
taught me how to speak
to birds, I knew the hairy
myth of a father
naming the world
before my eyes.
But if I laid
by your stomach
I sensed the summer
smell of a mother.
The garden
crusting off your feet
reminded me of berries
& the healing sun
& the forgotten sound
of being called
inside.
Your voice was the house.
In dreams, I still hear
my home
leave your mouth
in puffs of smoke.
Tío, mi viejo mago,
when you fell, I lost
my nerve for years.
Only now, with
clumsy words
I tiptoe back
to a dead one’s
bedroom, rummaging
drawers for seeds
& the secrets
behind your loneliness.
Why did you search
for stars instead
of lovers
& raise a child
you picked out
of the ground?
Why did you sleep
alone with your
magic
& gift me
all of your
time