Nov 14

Fragments 2

Fragments are all I have left of him.
Faded photographs in porcelain blue boxes shoved under my bed,
saved voicemails,
a letter in bright blue ink.

He left before I could articulate I needed him,
toddler hands grasping his shirt at the airport.
I waited-
seven hours and thirty-eight minutes.

I replayed the few memories of him over and over:
A thunderstorm in Puebla, the rain pelting the roof,
the way the lightning,
stabbing at intervals,
arched across the sky.

His laugh, rippling across the living room.

A birthday party, three candles on a sagging cake.

My awe visiting the ruins at Cacaxtla,
how he sat me on his shoulders so I could see,
stacked rock that used to be homes,
desperate etchings on the walls
spelling out a story I had yet to read.

These home movies flickered against my eyelids
before I fell asleep,
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.

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