April 11 - Clock Tower

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April 10 - SPINES

PUSH! They told my mother
as I swam through the sea
of her placenta
forged in the blood of
CORTEZ And MONTEZUMA
this smashing together of
brown and white from such
DIFFERENT SHORES
CHILD 44 destined to travel
the broken glass highway of
THIS BRIDGE CALLED MY BACK
joining the ranks of
ENEMY WOMEN pushed
OUT OF THE MARGINS into
100 YEARS OF SOLITUDE
upon THE CONFESSION
as we entered the valley of the
RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE
made of simple flesh that
felt the sting of each arrow
never the granite of
STONE BUTCH BLUES
it seems it's been a lifetime of
STORMING HEAVEN and
THE BAND PLAYED ON
all for the right of
A WOMAN'S LOVE
fingernails ripped and bleeding
trying to dig holes deep enough
to hide away these
SECRETS OF THE FLESH
and the lights come up and
it's LAST CALL
WHEN RABBIT HOWLS
staggering out the door into
hallowed night
leaving bloody footprints in
the SNOW GARDEN
swearing undying love
even if only for this night
'cause we're all afraid to be alone
while we're looking for
THE PROMISED LAND

April 9 - When It Gets Broken

Scars inside heart and brain

a flesh torn zipper at my cuff

all reminders

of the pain of staying

and the

permanency of departure

today isn’t yesterday

I remind myself each

waking

tomorrow won’t be today

when today begins to feel

like some old yesterdays

hourglass sands

each grain

forever or possibilities

this is what I tell myself

sitting in this car

engine idling

drinking a Coke

and watching

Netflix on my phone

flipping a mental coin

to finish this episode

or shut the garage door

and cancel my own season

April 8 - Dear Pope Francis

I see you’ve asked your
frocked crew to be more 

accepting of the queer

and the divorced
but still with no real change
in the dogma that has
destroyed lives beyond measure
be more tolerant you say
unjust discrimination against
gays and lesbians is
unacceptable you say
as though there were instead
a more just option to exercise
and hey what about the trans people
where do they fit in your kinder
gentler tapestry of Catholic

I remember when I was a kid
the heartbreak of my mom
when your team excommunicated
her from the one place that she
found peace and comfort
this church that meant so much
that gave her solace and helped
her hold all of the fragments into
which she’d been broken by the
hurt and horrors that had been her lot

I remember the rifle shot crack
of the screen door slamming shut
from our vantage point view
my brothers and me in a row
upon the sofa in our Sunday best
where she had left us just before
she tried to silence the awful pain
watching in terror as strange men
rolled her still and silent body
outside to the ambulance
and we knew not if we would
ever see her again

I remember when she came home
her broken was even more broken
but she still loved your damn church
in spite of being kicked out for
falling in love and marrying again
in her heart she stayed a member
of Team Catholic and all the rules
so she tried to pull me her queer kid
out by the roots pouring the lye of Jesus
into the fresh wounds she opened
with feverish and devoted regularity
until I was just as broken and broker
so I just gotta say Mr. Pope
Fuck You and your kinder gentler church

April 8, 2016

April 7 - Old Trucks & Broken Hearts

Driving down this highway
away from where I used to be
all that's in front of me are
miles and miles of I don't know
I think I'd call you if I could
but all I have are quarters and
they don't make pay phones
anymore

I'll keep driving til I see neon
so I can hook my heels on a rail  
and tell that bartender to keep
'em coming those 100 proof shots
of tell me why am I sitting here
staring down the barrel
of what used to be

When did it become so normal for
birds not to sing that it was a surprise
that redbird's song high up in
the sycamore tree as you told me
your heart had crossed the sea

Lying here on the hood of this
old truck stars fill the sky and
it's all bigger than my heart can hold
my brain caught in a riptide 
that's pulling me out to sea 
no lifejacket no boat no paddle
just me and the sharks of misery

There's some you never recover from
and from this one I'd sooner die
then to say it was all for nothing
as daylight cracks my eyes and skull
shaking off the whisky night before
with the sun at my back 
there's miles yet to go 
driving away from the we
looking for the just me...

April 6 - Dinnertime

Brown girl/White girl

all rolled into one

Mexican mama

and a white daddy

living in the South

¿Cómo se llama ya’ll?

all sewn together

at the dinner table

hot flour tortillas

beans and rice

tacos and tamales

pozole and chicken mole

enchiladas

fried chicken mashed potatoes

purple hull peas boiled cabbage

cornbread red velvet cake

eating our differences

at Sunday dinners

sopping up the causal racism

of aunties

with granny’s fluffy biscuits

while at home it was

mama’s pain

wrapped in tortillas

buttery tears slipping out

and running down our arms

April 5 - Planting Season

Grapefruits

I hate them

that was the size of the tumors
lurking in their brains tick tock

that took my boy and my man

funny thing they weren’t blood

but in death they were the same

Strawberries

I hate them too

those were the fields were they worked

gas so deadly had to give it an odor

laid in wait for them trapped under tarps

getting the ground ready for the berries

They. Pulled. Up. The. Tarps.

After the funerals I start to hear

how this gas is so bad it’s been banned

except for the strawberries

except for the other brown skinned countries

where grapefruit crops can blossom

inside the tiny farms of loved ones brains