Jul 26

i chose money over my father and i don't regret it


because of what I bought.

love is a currancy i hesitate to spend.

i have $483 dollars of non-refundable
deposits of memories.
deflation is inevitable.

my love was only worth
5 calls
and 
an email.

they taught me macro-econmics in school
but i think he only learned
micro.

he was expensive.

love was the only payment i knew before
he started asking for another.

dirty money

that's what he threw at me.
resentment,
guilt,
anger,

anything to keep me buying.

my debit cards have a limit
and i think he found mine.

i chose money over my father and i don't regret it
because i spent it on my
mother
my
sister
my
friend
my
self.

i chose money over my father

and i am 

all the richer now.
Jun 24
poem 5 comments challenge: General

Cages

I want my mother
at night.
When my body catches up with my mind
and my face unfolds from sleep so I can
remember every detail of the dream that woke me.

I want my mother
at night.
When I stumble from my raised bed to hers
two rooms down and to the left.
Her covers are better,
her arms warmer,
her breath reassuring.

I want my mother
at night.
When I lose my first tooth
and I don't know if the fairy will come
because I might have put it under my pillow too late.

I want my mother
at night.
When she keeps the light on in her room
while she reads the bills until the morning.

I want my mother 
at night.
When the shouting reverberates in my ears,
about how what we have is not enough
anymore.
How the crops are nothing compared to NAFTA.

I want my mother
at night.
When the days are getting longer
Jun 06

Again & Again

May 31

royalty

poor puebla princess
is dripping in gringa
on the flight back from burlington,
and her cousins rub their palms on her skin
wondering if it might spread.

parched puebla princess
is thirsty for the time of day when the sun can burn 
her incombustible skin.
the sun on the other side was too fragile, 
weak.

petulant puebla princess
wants to leave the stifling kitchen,
sick of peeling mangoes by the blue tile sink
while her father can roam
free.

polite puebla princess
lets her eyes glaze over
when people ask her how
much she loves being
such a proper girl.

pale puebla princess
pretends she's sick in america
so she doesn't have to play with the friendly neighbor
that likes to tug her hair and ask why
she's so tan in the winter.

proud puebla princess
hates the boy in america that 
glares every time she speaks spanish,
May 25
poem 0 comments challenge: General

Nos Faltan 43


Blood summers in the deep parts of mexico
are the reason I only visit in the spring.
They call them blood summers
because of how the air gets thick
and how the children get stolen.

I can either write or they can bleed
with the fragile heartbeats they have left.
Pain has always taken us for weak
and I am weak
so I write.

Sometimes they take them from school,
or from home, or from their father's arms.
And everyone is alone because
they don't get amber alerts.
Just death ones.

I can either write or they can cry
with leaking eyes we have yet to see with.
Memories gathered in the corners
dripping down our cheeks until we feel lonely
and I am lonely
so I write.

Have you seen the marches?
The charred paper with the faces etched in?
The billboards clustered on the highway?
The way they don't let go of their children?
May 23

YWP

May 18

Fun & Games

May 03

Sketch

Mar 23
poem 2 comments challenge: General

Repentance

I forgot to add iodine to the vegetables the other day.

That’s why you found broccoli in the garbage.

I drank water from the tap once and didn’t get sick.

I drank water from the tap again, and I did.

I know you don’t earn a lot of money.

I hate the feeling I get when you try to hide it.

I think dad left because you told him to.

I think you told him to leave because he was going to anyway.

I spent the last dollar on a necklace I really wanted at the store.

I don’t pray before we eat.

I know you don’t either.

I hate it when the neighbor tells me I hit like a girl.

I was the reason he had a black eye and they don’t invite me over anymore.

I never hit anyone else after that,
with my fists.

I think the door needs to be oiled.

I know when you get home late because of the sound.

I’ll never drink.
Mar 21

A Vermont Winter

She came to the United States when she was just young enough
to question why everything was white.
They thought she was talking about the snow
but her mother knew she was talking about the people.

When the water froze and assembled
into a compacted glaze on the sidewalks,
she slipped more than other kids.

They told her it was because of black ice,
that it was transparent and deadly.
Like them.

The air wouldn’t even let her speak.
Numbing her throat with icicles
so she had to abandon her words,
in order to breathe.

She knew that people here were colder
and that they wondered why she didn’t blend into the snow
like they did.

She fears that leaving people is a sickness
that spreads from father to daughter
because it feels like she has a fever
and she’s gelid all the time now.

She really wants to leave,
Mar 18

Puebla

Puebla is chocolate dipped, syrupy
as I spoon it out of the close knit towns surrounding Mexico City.
I just want to gulp it down,
suck the marrow from the cattle that get leaner every year.

It smells good, being home.
Or being in a place that was once home.
I can’t help but hold my breath,
abducting it in my lungs as if the wind here
is a different flavor then the wind there.

I thought the thing I missed most was the heat,
the sizzle your bare feet make against
the packed dirt of the evening road.
But I was wrong because I am intoxicated by
the way my grandma clasps my hands to her heart,
like I never left.

Puebla tastes salty,
as I lick it from my top lip,
brushing it from the corners of my eyes,
letting it fall, absorb into my skin.

I know I can’t come back until the next
thunderstorm season.
The lightning hides my guilt on the tarmac,
Mar 13

Something Red


The perspective of the shooter is not to sympathize or diminish any of what he did, but rather to shed light on how easy it is to get a gun even if you are obviously unfit to have one.

“Here, just take my money!” he interrupts
before haphazardly grabbing the pistol.
Unclenching his fist to let the crumpled money fall.
He leaves his friend with half a lemonade
and no reasoning for the purchase.

He didn’t really want to pay for it,
he doesn’t like to spend money,
especially when it’s going to dumb people
but it was the easiest option and he
wants this to be easy.

--

Helena wished math could be easier.
or maybe just less boring
but she still wanted something
as she dropped her head between her hands
and waited for the bell to ring.

--

He made the bell ring,
but not the one they were expecting.
He took out his new gun.
Feb 20

sweet story dude

What a bubblegum kingdom
popping and
sticking

to the pink parts of the tongue
of that bubblegum
girl who likes
to chew
people up
and spit them out.

See that gumdrop
beat drop in the
nodding heads of
red top's ears as he
tries to listen to another
sweet record.

Tucked into the 
green smile of
a sour apple jolly rancher
is the sad one
who happens to be
the funny one in the class
but the hardest one to
unwrap.

Her favorite flavor of
happiness is cherry
dum-dum that is,
but today her stupid dad
gave her orange 
and now she hates
that dum dum.

The third grader knows that
money doesn't grow on trees
but she tries really hard
every summer
and all she can grow is licorice
not even the good kind,
just ​red licorice.
Feb 20

Gold Standard


I hate the flashy gold American Express cards
that take a couple seconds longer to
process on the credit machine
and almost make me drop that
retail smile.

I try not to look at
the nails that push 
the card through, manicured like
I can see their lawn in the 
color pink they choose.

​I can't think of the way they
stare right through me, hydrochloric eyes blinking
until they turn away because they see the
small
number of coins in my hand
and decide that I am not a
member of the 
gold standard.

I want to be happy with the
clink
that the fake silver I wear on my ears
makes as it tangles in something
but 
I know that real silver makes a 
thunk.

It seems I am filled with the
fortune of being alive and kicking and trying
to be something more then that penny
that no one bothers to even look at because
Feb 19

Piles