braided words

up late, neuroses kicking in, inner insomniac starts to clean
wipe away what's on the walls, the graffiti you've scrawled
over a decade and let the world tattoo itself all over you

removing the ink hurts just as much and the pain reminds you
of the futility of human creativity, blotted out by its successor
scars not quite hidden under those delicate hairs, erect in the cold

i never thought i'd embrace indifference but today i let its taste
linger on my tongue, let the pickles' brine sit and stagnate
and the best part was being surprised by my apathy, pleasantly surprised
about things that no longer concern me, about things like moles
whose borders impossibly change and stay the same after a sunburn

"you've got the same pants to get glad in," that southern woman used to say
i'm in the same pants and maybe i didn't get glad but that tattoo is gone

Day 16: fast poem

time passed. i walked on that grass
seven years ago, still hear the bells
of the chapel ringing, my skin tingling
with anticipation for the first time

when he lifted his glass, rosy-cheeked nine of cups,
his champagne toast was the sweet poison
of romeo and juliet's suicide
and her wild eyes tamed on him, ten of cups,
rainbow overhead, the nectar most only taste once
and lose and miss all their lives

outside the rain pitters and patters
on my uncovered head. the bells toll
their final song and my time has come

Day 12: spring

our home is brimming
with too many books and things
but not people

the way to know God
is to feel the pollen blow
into your nostrils

remind me of love
through stoic silence, to love
to love you, father

shining stars took off
too late at night to worry
like supernovas

Day 11: memories of cuzco

foto por pablo tsukuyama
--

your breath arrested
taking in the central square
wide doe eyes dazzled


the red-cheeked children
their puppets un solcito
fingers make their sales


coca leaves and steam
warming cold thin mountain air
your gut is nervous


silently they climb
with tumplines on their foreheads
your legs fall behind

Day 10: polka dots

(gracias a tim laux por la foto)
--

we saved the lucky charms marshmallows, divided and conquered them
into little enclaves of shapes, like politicians watched their colors ooze into the milk
and marble into mulattos, the cosmic race our parents would never want
their grandchildren to become

she warned me of the biting ants, and oh how they stung
our tender feet until she taught me to decorate the sidewalk
with their innards, to stomp them like crabapples, splattering
remorseless red and brown and death and flies until our parents
taught us it was wrong to kill

she and I, we were always different. we threw tantrums about
those blue plastic chairs, ostracized the wobbly one with the crack
and she wept inconsolably when, on rare occasion, our parents
rewarded me for my quiet with the intact throne and i always felt
a little silly because deep down i always loved the underdog
and knew she was too beautiful for anything less than ken

two little indian girls in white america
dots on their heads, dots on their dresses
their parents lost in this land where love flows
in such foreign, unpredictable ways, which scrapes your knees raw
as you beg for the familiarity you can only find in dressing up
your dollfaced daughters in matching dresses
each one more identical than the last

two little girls retaliated, never to don those dots again,
vowed to be distinct, to perform their difference, and grew up into
a cornbred feminist and a plantation belle who made their parents so proud
and destroyed them in the worst of ways because america made us and ruined us
seduced us and ravaged us, and she and i,
we ended up as clones, fighting for the losing teams,
dotting the same ashes on our foreheads
wearing the same clothes.

Day 9: al cielo

their sweet beginnings, their infertility, his castle of balloons
brought tears to her eyes, and her friend sputtered out a throaty laugh
abrasive, delighted that such silly things evoked such sentiment

and the second time the daughter hid behind her father's shadow
silently choked down the saltwater in the dark

the final time the allusion itself was enough; the tears were already there
just waiting for their cue to spring to life on her cheeks
the arm, placed gently, tentatively around her shoulder, snaked in
a little closer, predicting, anticipating, unsurprised and comforting
when she buried her head in her palms

Day 8: heartbeat poem

boiled vegetables and a few laughs later
you tucked yourself into bed
i listened to the nothingness
the whirring blades of the fan
the creaks and groans of an old building
adjusting to the humidity of the day,
the charged air of the storm

my chest rose and fell and i felt
lucky.