POEM A DAY 2019

Claridad

Only in Puerto Rico
have I seen butterflies by the sea
burn in the mystic vibrations of Chango's tears
and the fire spirits of caciques & cacicas

only in Puerto Rico
where in Orocovis
deep deep in the mountains / in the heart
in the thunderous neverending echoes of countless coquis
under the new moon Boricua sky
waxing into full luna shining against naked planets and stars
illuminating my blackest night

I hear my mother's voice
clear as day.

199

I was a deflated sea anemone
he was hiding in a paper bag
the lighting was good
I was always hungry then -
and now, and before that -
there was room enough for two
in that great big bag
my eyes were wide
and searching for a way in
the crowd ebbed and flowed
but the entryways bottlenecked
i made my move
lilting
but everyone was rolling away
as if on cue

LOW GRADE FEVER

Kissing her hot head.
Breasts throb when she cries (or smiles).
Her pain is my pain.

ode to king cake

you knew me better than i knew myself
inside of my mouth thick now with your
cream                 cheese              frosting
there's something burrowed there, too,
between the yellow number five
and the sodium acid pyrophosphate
something like a slurred liquor,
sipped through the teeth of an old woman
in this hot-cold-hot-cold winter.

No. I'm Not.

Hanging back, you first,
throwing a game,
wasting more time wondering,
about my gift horse flattery,
for surely your value has declined -
my stomach tightened intensely,
with pleasure, knowing now what I
could have dispensed with then,
I would have been so awful,
and so rid of the manners I had
not yet sloughed in order
to protect the current
that shunts us to the sidings
where one can
peacefully spend the day.

unconventional spellings of Michelle

“Look at my hands and please don’t shoot me
Put down your guns and take your hands off me”

I heard a song I loved
and recorded part of it
about living with your hands up and dying
with the static of crowd murmurs in the background
and black and blue and black and blue—
I searched for the song
but can’t find it anywhere
and what did i do
to be so—
it seems to only exist on my subpar phone recording
would you push through
you could die too—
laying on the couch I am defeated
but still listening
over and over
wishing those poetic words were mine
I’d be so
I’d be so—

Air around here

_

All the particles
Of sweat or skin
Left on my hands
Form a fog of you
A mist collecting
In my tangled hair
I love the smell
Of the air around here