Pajamas are not suitable daytime attire, not even clean ones. Not for any of us. Relatedly, dad owns pants. Who knew?
POETRY
Manejo
Not Estela, /
pigtails & cadence /
of okay mamá...okay papá /
w/o either parent.
FICTION
In Exchange for the Final Pudding Cup, We Offer Our Inner Thoughts
Tomorrow, I’ll show you to a stranger. Not on purpose, of course, but we know the changing rooms at the gynecologist’s office are never private. We’ll wear a Pepto Bismol gown and Margo will stiffen because of the draft caused by observational rooms, their doors left open just a crack to see the glow of ultrasound screens.
MICRO
Ars Poetica, age 4
...my four-year-old hand caressed that plastic world & beheld its cerulean tilt & spin
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Production Notes on Quantum Physics
before the nights we spent enameling / this reflection in my eye, my mother / danced on a fire escape / limned by black fire, and you / glowed bright with the silhouette of a camera.
OR WAS IT A METAPHOR?
The mouth is a hollow / for language. I know little of what shreds a child into two countries, but I think joy returns to the / flushed roof of my palate when my mouth tenders Igarra.
“a poem for Justin” and Two Poems
because you asked me your first word /
& i said i didn’t know /
& i could have told you a good lie /
& made that a small poem we share.
Object Lessons
I was convinced my body was dragging my soul to damnation. And so I tried to save myself by throwing myself away.
