In the Key of You Tomas Nieto

In the Key of You

Tomas Nieto

After Patrick Rosal

I drift back to it in the middle of a grocery store or when the sunlight hits the Plexiglas. This was years ago: seconds ago.

How long could you hold this note?

Music is the art of combining sound and silence. When the note is just right, the blunt is felt from the inside out. So, I became a musician. My first track went like this:

I counted the click of locks the number of knives the days it’s been since and the seconds it takes to—

I can still pin the bang to the edges of my teeth. Shoulders back, feet first, red stoplight gone too red. You wanted it and it came fast. Full devastation—heavy with angels. Your Honda gone. The street so wide Saint Peter was a block too soon. Two cars: a whole story skidding across a street; screws, fenders and pieces of windshield—an alphabet for God unpiecing bit by bit.

I read once that at any given time only part of this world is gruesome.

And at that moment, all of it hinged from a telephone wire.

In the Key of You (continued)

Tomas Nieto

It was raining when I got the call. Each line of water dropped: a question.

What time was it?

Is he okay?

What did the doctors say? The whole story or just the point?

What do you mean you don’t know?

Was it an accident?

What was the intention? The purpose?

The match?

The flame?

The ends of question marks scattered below me—a garden of slate blooming around my knees.

That night, I made the splatter wider.

So how long can you hold this note?

Silence is half of the song. No matter if you can hear it or not.

In the Key of You (continued)

Tomas Nieto

There is only so much water a body can hold until it starts claiming another—when the sky gets too full or a dam on the edge of disaster, the bloated legs of Grandpa or the way we cling to so much impermanence at once. Water is all we are and all we are floating in. You must let it run through you before you can drink from it. So, drink from it.

It was on some street in San Diego, ending and beginning under the same sky—two ends running at each other. Double spiral. Circling teeth. Black hole. Blazing.

And in the moment before impact, you unlocked Jesus and nebulas in the perfect of this pause, where the bullet balanced on your neck right before you said God. It was over as soon as it begun—twisting a key into a lock. There is no language for this, only shudder, disappearing in an instant, leaving a swollen throat where the hard-mute escapes into thin air. I am so sorry. Me, on one side of those words. You, on the other. I spoke into the circle of my ten fingers to make sense of this: a stampede coursing through you, through my lips, clear across an intersection, out

into forever.

There is no stampede here. Just the rushing clarity of seeing you everywhere and nowhere

at once.

In the Key of You (continued)

Tomas Nieto

I’ll ask one more time: how long could you hold this note?

Listen:

49

Emory Brinson is a freshman at Brown University studying Literary Arts and International Affairs. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, the National YoungArts Foundation, and Hollins University. Recently she was a finalist for the Passages North Elinor Benedict Poetry Prize.

Chris L. Butler (he/him) is an African American and Dutch poet/essayist from Philadelphia, PA living in Canada. His debut micro chap, BLERD: ‘80s BABY, ‘90s KID (Daily Drunk Press) is set to be released in August 2021. He is the Associate Poetry Editor at Bending Genres and a feedback Editor for Versification Zine. You can read his work in or forthcoming with Alternating Current Press, Flypaper Lit, Trampset, Perhappened Mag, The Bayou Review, and others. Jawn is absolutely his favourite word.

Adrianna Caputo was born and raised in the Pine Barrens of South Jersey. She is currently earning her BFA in creative writing at Eckerd College. She lives at home with her dog and two cats. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Glassworks, The A3 Review, and Humana Obscura.

Jade Fleming is an emerging poet and lyrical essayist currently residing in Philly. Xey are a black nonbinary poet with a B.A. in Literature and Concentration in Creative Writing. Xeir writings often broach topics of mental health, identity, ancestry, and the supernatural.

Rachel Hsu (b. 1992, Seattle, WA) is a Philadelphia-based interdisciplinary artist who works with visual art, language, and poetry. She holds an MFA from the Tyler School of Art and Architecture and a BFA from Western Washington University.

Sean Lynch is a poet and editor who lives in South Philly. His poems have appeared in journals including Hobart, Meow Meow Pow Pow, and Drunk Monkeys. He’s the founding editor of Serotonin, on the editorial board of Moonstone Arts Center, and serves as the Program Director of the Nick Virgilio Haiku Association and Writers House in Camden, NJ.

Tomas Nieto is a writer and educator from San Diego, California. An alum of Las Dos Brujas, Community of Writers at Squaw Valley, and VONA/Voices, his work has appeared in Solstice Literary Magazine, The Rumpus, Mud Season Review, and others. Cherry Nin is an interdisciplinary artist with a practice that includes writing, video, performance, and sound. Alongside her art practice, Cherry is an organizer. She is the co-founder of writer’s collective Word Club, and Krissy Talking Pictures, a video art organization in Philadelphia for queer artists without access to institutions.

Bailey Quinn is an English major from Connecticut. Her writing is fueled by the magic of ordinary life.

Hannah Soyer (she/her) is a queer disabled writer born and living in the Midwest. She is the founder of This Body is Worthy, a project aimed at celebrating bodies outside of mainstream societal ideals, and Words of Reclamation, a space for disabled writers. She is the editor of The Ending Hasn’t Happened Yet, an anthology of poetry from disabled, chronically ill, and/or neurodivergent writers forthcoming from Sable Books, and her work has appeared in places such as The Rumpus, Disability Visibility Project, and Entropy. Hannah also happens to be a cat and chocolate enthusiast.

Hailey Spencer is a poet, writer, and director. She coproduced three webseries as a founding member of the independent studio Arsenic Martini Productions. Her poetry has been published online and in print. She lives in Seattle with her wife. You can find out more at haileyspencerwrites.com

Vriddhi Vinay (she/her) is a poet and of South Indian background and student from the Philadelphia area. She is interested in research into gender justice, post-colonial studies, and revolutionary South Asian histories as well as the archival of South Asian women’s colonial anthologized poetry. She has had work in Cosmonauts Avenue, Penn Review, Kweli Journal, and The Inklette.

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This issue marks the last for APIARY’s beloved Project Director, Steve Burns. Steve has been a fundamental part of APIARY for nearly TEN YEARS, and it’s safe to say we wouldn’t be the same team or magazine without him. Steve first joined APIARY as a columnist covering local lit events and book reviews, then went on to wear just about every hat imaginable in the organization: a true blue worker bee. As Web Editor he was instrumental in building and maintaining the online home we have today at apiarymagazine.com, and as Project Director he’s worked tirelessly to learn the ins and outs of grant writing to ensure APIARY receives the support it needs to keep existing. He’ll never hesitate to help a team member in need, whether that means a well-timed text or phone call to check in, extra eyes to break ties on submissions, late nights of proofreading, or long hours on the road to pick up pallets of our latest issue. As an English teacher, he’s now turned those beams of support onto his students to inspire the next generation of readers and writers.

When asked if he’d like to say a few words in the issue, Steve declined, saying “APIARY isn’t about me—just the work.” So, we’re saying it for him: Thank you, Steve, for all of YOUR work to keep this hive alive and thriving. You will be missed!

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