Manejo

Not Estela, /
pigtails & cadence /
of okay mamá...okay papá /
w/o either parent.


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.


Ars Poetica, age 4

...my four-year-old hand caressed that plastic world & beheld its cerulean tilt & spin




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Photo by Eberhard Grossgasteiger

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.


The Eye Exam

“You’re not African American?”

He stares. “Not at all?”

He squints. “Not even partly?”


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.