Civil Liberties

Goddamn god bless us
we're lucky to live in this place
where we can question our president
agree
disagree
praise someone or cuss someone out
without fear that we'll disappear down a dark alley

and me
oh my god
as a woman
who can get myself out of bed at 8am,
take care of myself,
then walk out the door
and get on a BUS
and go dance in public for 4 hours
then buy myself a coffee,
read a newspaper
write  in my own damn book,
go watch a rehearsal and speak my mind about what I see
then!
Walk! Alone! through 5 nieghborhoods and then go to work! 
Teach, no less - then
bicycle home in the dark
all by my damn self
and I'm free
I'm free free free

Today

Is this day.

It is a first
and a last.

A world was made
changed,

Today.

What happens on this day
hurts people
makes children weep.
Adults laugh, the animals screech.

But then the 24 hours go by, and a slate is wiped clean.

Another day begins, more hours can pass.
We can make new mistakes
heal old wounds,
and make new ones.

Know that there are millions of days ahead.
Each new, young, different.

It's not necessary to apologize when you don't feel anything. I'm not saying this from experience, I'm saying it from feeling it. 

Here's another day in life, prying osmotically through the bedroom walls, wondering how being alone can be factored in. I'll compile a list of how it feels to be alone, a list in the true sense, with numbers, period dots, and shaped like a venetian blind. 

1. The car seat on your ass when driving alone, don't neglect to feel it, or ignore the nicking razor of the seat belt. 

2. Walking in circles. You can wind an unseen spool in skates. You can wind a set of laces to be put away. 

3. The stairs are percussive. The mechanics of walking can be undone over time. You can make your walking tight like a sensible passer-by, downtown, in-skirt. 

4. My wits are about me, I walk like a demon with a wicked, sour nose. I've got pink air in my spine, I let my legs fly and flag you down with my face. 

6. I'm possessed of some very loose feeling, and it's gone as soon as memory ignites its heavy bin of parts. It's night: dreams are my good sensory bin, light as air.  

7. In the afternoon, do we have the same number of shadows? Well don't number the shadows, that's been a problem ever since you became one. 

Devil Lungs

Beach weathered, caught, seen to the table way down the line.

Terror spice, embedded in thumb stumps, shell splits flesh splits shell eats flesh,

Or fibres, or whatever's left, separate from the pulp on the parchment.

Exo-contusions and then lunch particles jerk from mallet concussion.

El Yunque Meditation 6/8

un lugar lleno de paz

el cuadro de silencio

el baile de la lluvia

los gritos de los pajaros

la calma que duerme con calma

las brisas de la vida

la vida de mi vida

y la verde azules

las frutas de la tierra

las canciones de coqui coqui coqui

y el sentido que aunque

no nací en Puerto rico

Puerto rico nacío en mi.

A letter to Amy

Dear Amy,

I am wondering how you made Simone's hershey kiss costume look so real.
I wish you wouldn't look to men
like pillars.
My sisters need the fiercest kind.
One who can face the tempest of their love.

Even though,
T

were it slightly more purposeful

LAUNDRY

eventually I put my red sleeved hand 

over your face

what I wanted to say 

simply was not happening

alone here at the table

I am the scrambled yoke 

of perception

and desire

I talk about my brother like he's a saint

I talk about everyone 

like they are outside of me, 

when in fact  

we look for people to love us, 

until they love too much

make wings out of our bodies

without permission

I am my mother's daughter

buying rags to drape

over everything dirty

or damp

I would like a rag

bigger than the ocean

i'm behind on writing to galleries

behind on applying for residencies

i need to follow up with siobhan from icp

and i just signed up to make a video

that i have no idea how to do

cataract/glass

awake before the sun breaks
and you are ready

two women; one goal

help me so i can see she says

i can't see she says

time passes too fast
but we are on our way

i know the road well traveled
but the car doesn't know

7:30
soon you shall see
i hope you can see

home is closer than ever before

All the people who give me nightmares
Gave me the silent treatment today
Perhaps they thought they were punishing me
They weren't

MUFFINS

it’s Sunday and who knows

when we’ll get tired

of going to bars all night.

within a few years

we bargain, at most.

so for now I keep

the extra bed in the attic

made up – in the morning

we wake and drink tea.

we make muffins.

you dice ginger

I sub whole-wheat flour

add some bruised pears

and bake 20 minutes.

by 1:30 we’re still

at the kitchen table,

half-a-dozen muffins

are gone.