RECENTLY PUBLISHED


BRUNCH.

i am descendant from women who greet death like brunch. /
i do not know if this is bravery or foolishness.


Rippling Through the Dark

Light / traipses through water and water / envelopes my mother’s hands. / How her hands have torqued / my dark body—a kind of light / I’ve never understood


Manejo

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


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.