Mariano Zaro

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Mariano Zaro moved to Los Angeles from Spain in the early 90s, and at that time, he was an emerging writer with very little experience in the literary world. He said, “Beyond Baroque, the Venice Literary Arts Centers played a crucial role in [his] development as a writer.” Additionally, he was involved in the Writer Program at UCLA. Zaro has published several books of poetry, such as Padre Tierra (published in Spain, Olifante) and Decoding Sparrows (What Books Press, Los Angeles). His main challenge as a writer was finding a community of writers. Zaro felt welcomed into the literary Los Angeles community from the very beginning. One of his areas of interest is translation, specifically within poetry. He has translated American poets Philomene Long (Poemas de las Misiones de California), Tony Barnstone (Buda en llamas), and Sholeh Wolpé (Cómo escribir una canción de amor). For the past ten years, he has collaborated with the literary project “Poetry.LA,” where he has conducted over 50 video interviews with prominent poets. Zaro’s short stories have appeared in Portland Review, Pinyon, Baltimore Review, Louisville Review, and Magnapoets. He won the 2004 Roanoke Review Short Fiction Prize and the 2018 Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing Short Fiction Prize. He is a professor of Spanish at Rio Hondo Community College (Whittier, California).

My Mother Wakes Up Late

My mother wakes up late these days.

I help her to get up. I put on her glasses.

 

We walk to the bathroom. Twenty five steps, slowly.

I hold both her hands as if we were dancing.

She brushes her feet against the floor.

I walk backwards.

 

It is kind of cloudy today. She says that every morning

since her sight started to fail.

 

She sits on the toilet, rubs her eyes,

runs her fingers through her hair trying to remove

the remains of last night’s medication.

 

I am about to prepare the bath. What is that? she says.

There is a dead moth in the bathtub.

 

How is she able to see it?

She cannot read anymore,

she cannot sew—she loved sewing,

cannot watch TV—it bothers her eyes.

She still has good peripheral vision.

The doctor has told me.

 

The moth has left a trail behind—golden, glittery.

Calligraphy written by a drunken hand.

A trail of dance and death.

 

It’s just a moth, mother. They come in at night. I tell her.

I clean the bathtub with toilet paper. I let the water run.

 

I start to remove my mother’s night gown.

Five buttons on her chest.

This must be the end of summer, she says.

Published:

2013

Length:

Regular

Literary Movements:

Contemporary

Anthology Years:

2023

Themes:

Family

Love & Relationships

Literary Devices:

Allusion

an expression designed to call something to mind without mentioning it explicitly; an indirect or passing reference

Imagery

visually descriptive or figurative language, especially in a literary work

Juxtaposition

the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect

Metaphor

a comparison between two unrelated things through a shared characteristic

Personification

the attribution of human qualities to a non-human thing

Repetition

a recurrence of the same word or phrase two or more times

Symbolism

a word, object, action, character, or concept that embodies and evokes a range of additional meaning and significance.