the wolves of the mountain cry about /
nothingness but their mouths are soaked in blood /
and when the gods spray their rain of grace, new arable grows

I’m like how did I miss this Toni is my girl I remember all / them car rides when my mother played the hell out of Toni’s debut album in 93’

my body as landfill, as food for rats, /
as slime on plastic bottles and broken washing machines.

Hey hey, mezcal, cactus fruit, /
rose quartz—tectonic breath and lightning at the throat. The air /
in La Madera. Fetid marigold somewhere in the back of the heart.

When the rain came, sweet earth bloomed. /
The river’s wound healed, swelling to meet /
the first lightning strike in a kiss. Still buried /
in the silt of the riverbed, I opened my mouth /
to taste the first drop—as acrid as raw honey.

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