Calluses

By Mauricio Novoa

Issue 38 • Fall 2018 • Poetry

3rd Place Poetry

2018 Summer Contest

Mauricio Novoa has an impressive control of the sonic elements at play, starting straight from the rhythmically delicious opening: “Mami’s feet were a Weller Road Elementary / census, each callus a Spanish speaking teacher.” I love the way the slant rhyme ricochets between “Weller,” “Elementary,” “census,” “callus,” “Spanish.” Such sonic rigor is well-matched to the rigor of the mother whose story is being told in this moving, well-muscled portrait.
– Franny Choi

Mami’s feet were a Weller Road Elementary

census, each callus a Spanish speaking teacher.

Because she cleaned hotel rooms, I was almost switched

into an ESOL class, even though she had Mr. Rogers

tutor me to English fluency. We got a mirror

in our bedroom when she got more than Univision

to watch at 7pm, home from work eating at the table

by herself – 4 boys sleeping in the same bed but meals

in whatever hole they found or made. Some nights

I rubbed her feet after pulling out her caspas, her soles

blistered with each country she left behind, each quarter

she got as a raise for promotions, each vacation and conference

she tidied up without tip. When she accidentally

hit the remote and it switched to the English channels,

the characters only said “Hola” when they were scrubbing

a toilet. That might explain why she always fell asleep

halfway through a movie. And why 6 weekend tequilas

were what made her dance then pull me in, making

my brick feet drag to cumbia. And why whatever

school loans didn’t cover went on her credit card. I got

my first callus on my left toe when I started working

with Spanish speaking students, one for every teacher

they might have had that talked like us. One for every

dirty mirror I shaved in front of. One for every stomach

pump after drinking like a grown-ass, hard-working-for-

worthless-pennies woman that made her the first thing

I saw when I woke up and had work that Monday.

But because of the 12 she’d put on my ass for being a baboso,

I may never get another.

Mauricio Novoa

Mauricio Novoa is from Glenmont, MD, the son of Salvadoran refugees. He received his MFA from Queens University of Charlotte and has had his work published in The Acentos Review, The Petigru Review, and the anthology The Wandering Song: Central American Writing in the United States.

Alexis Avlamis

Alexis Avlamis (b.Athens 1979) received an early art instruction from Bennington College, Vermont and later on earned a BFA(hons) in Painting from the Athens School of Fine Arts. By tapping into a stream of consciousness, he creates dreamlike mindscapes aiming at a unified whole, where existing and fabricated visuals co-exist symbiotically. Avlamis is a laureate of the International Emerging Artist Award (Drawing and Illustration category), as well as a recipient of the 2018 American Art Awards (Naive-Other Category) and will soon land his Cosmographies solo show series at the CICA Museum, Seoul, S.Korea. He has exhibited internationally and works may be found in private and museum collections.