“All
I
write/
vanishes/
before/
it
is
written”
After
writing
this
simple
four-line
poem,
gay
poet
Mariano
Zaro
realized
he
had
opened
a
door
that
would
lead
to
other
rooms
and
spaces.
He
knew
instinctively
that
the
words
belonged
to
a
larger
body,
but
he
had
no
idea
what
shape
this
body
would
eventually
take.
As
it
turned
out,
five
years
later
the
poem,
now
titled
“Poem
#1,”
has
taken
its
place
as
the
first
of
30
entries
in
Zaro’s
collection
of
bilingual
poetry,
“Poems
of
Erosion/Poemas
de
la
Erosion.”
“It
wasn’t
until
I
actually
finished
the
book
that
I
realized
its
theme
was
the
history
of
my
disappearance,”
he
said
from
his
home
in
Santa
Monica,
Calif.
“I
don’t
mean
this
in
a
literal
way.
Of
course,
there
are
many
levels
of
disappearance.
“My
first
disappearance
was
the
result
of
a
cultural
dislocation.
I
left
Spain
and
moved
to
L.A.
almost
10
years
ago.
At
some
point,
I
lost
track
of
who
I
was
and
was
unable
to
figure
out
my
new
identity,”
he
said.
“It
happens
to
a
lot
of
people
in
the
same
situation,
and
it’s
both
scary
and
uncomfortable.
In
coming,
I
thought
I
was
too
strong
for
something
like
that
to
happen
to
me,
but
I
was
wrong.”
According
to
Zaro,
40,
the
second
erosion
of
self
was
somehow
connected
to
a
loss
of
youth.
At
a
certain
age,
he
believes,
we
either
put
to
death
the
hope
of
the
person
that
we
had
dreamed
to
become,
or
the
fantasy
simply
dies
on
its
own.
And
when
this
takes
place,
and
we
settle
on
being
whom
we
actually
are,
there
is
a
time
when
we
mourn
for
the
idealized
persona
that
we
might
have
been.
“And
finally
the
third
erosion
is
on
a
more
personal
level,”
Zaro
said.
“In
order
to
make
my
relationship
with
my
partner
work,
I
hid
instead
of
being
present.
I
wasn’t
engaged
and
didn’t
deal
with
any
discomfort.
Things
appeared
to
be
working
and
flawless,
but
nothing
was
really
happening.
There
was
no
emotion
behind
the
actions.
I
had
disappeared
from
self.”
WHEN
HE
WAS
writing
the
poems
in
the
collection,
Zaro
said
all
these
feelings
of
disappearance
were
very
intertwined.
“It
is
only
now
from
a
distance
that
I’m
able
to
talk
about
it
so
scientifically
and
categorize
my
feelings,”
he
said.
In
his
collection,
the
poet,
who
teaches
elementary
school
in
Los
Angeles,
features
an
English
and
Spanish
version
of
each
poem.
“I
have
made
a
commitment
to
write
my
poems
in
both
languages,”
he
said.
“I
have
no
choice:
Life
and
crises
happen
to
me
in
both
languages,
so
I
have
to
use
both
to
write
about
it.
Also,
I
have
two
tools
of
expression,
and
in
using
both,
I’m
able
to
pare
down
the
words
and
make
my
writing
less
fussy.”
Zaro
strives
to
write
poetry
that
is
honest,
avoiding
temptation
to
create
anything
“shiny
or
showy.”
It’s
important
to
him
that
a
poem
is
clear
enough
for
the
reader
to
become
engaged,
but
it
also
needs
“a
little
space
and
silence”
so
the
reader
is
able
to
finish
and,
ultimately,
to
create
the
poem
himself.
Born
in
Borja,
a
small
town
in
Spain,
Zora
laughingly
recalls
as
a
child
of
five
dictating
his
first
poems
to
his
mother.
He
attended
the
university
at
Zaragoza
where
he
earned
a
master’s
degree
in
Spanish
literature.
During
college,
Zaro
contributed
to
many
literary
magazines,
most
of
which
didn’t
make
it
past
a
second
edition.
Like
many
of
his
literary
idols,
he
was
determined
to
live
the
glamorous
life
of
an
expatriate.
He
bypassed
Paris,
Tangiers,
and
New
York,
for
Los
Angeles,
where
by
day
he
teaches
a
mostly
Latino
third-grade
class.
Since
completing
“Erosions,”
Zaro
is
concentrating
on
prose.
The
first
project
is
titled
“Theme
and
Variation.”
The
second
is
a
collection
of
portraits,
detailing
some
of
the
eccentric
women
that
Zaro
encountered
as
a
young
boy
in
Spain,
including
a
former
model,
and
a
very
old
lady
who
travels
with
a
pet
monkey.
