Writing my Latino novel

We fled late in the
night, or night, mami
calls it, b/c she grew
up in Flint. MI,
acutely aware how being
Mexican fucked you up.

“Why were you taking
Spanish classes?” she
asked me when I told
her I dropped the minor,
tongue dripping with dolor,
her real first language,

but I forgive her b/c I have
to or else I could not live.
Anyway, it was l8 at
night + the GM union busters
were chasing us.


I swallowed it whole and a hedge burst from my breast, brambles grown thorny around my heart.

Dharma Bum

“Stupid to be lonely. How ‘bout just hungry?”