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

April 4 - January

Sheets are cold

icy feet poking
about
looking for that
warm spot
where I let her
press her soles
toes wiggling
in delight
little sighs
of ecstasy
slip out from
between her lips
as she slides
her arms around
me
pressing
herself into
my back
lighting a fire
that burns
inside my bones
well worth
the trade
of cold feet
warming
upon my legs
hair so black
as to be blue
falls over
my shoulder
a confessional
screen
as she recounts
her excitement
of that day
dancing in the
grocery store
parking lot
licking snow
flakes from
the air as flurries
piled the snow
higher and higher
arms outstretched
head tilted
back she'd spun
herself into a
drunken wobble
her laughter
such that the
bread and milk
brigade stopped
in their hurried
rush into the store
infected with her
inaugural joy
of first winter's
snow
words come slower
and as we flip
in our synchronized
sleepcapade
her last thought
as she slides
beneath the
waves of slumber
is to wonder
about so much
bread and milk
when it was so
obvious that
it was tacos you
counted on to
survive all of
life's little storms
well that and lots
of chips and salsa
her breathing settles
into rhythm
I am caught and
willingly surrender
to swim with her
beneath a sea of
dreams

The sheets are cold
icy feet
feel around
for her
but it's January...
again                                                                                       many times over
long past that day

April 3 - A Fan Letter to Hedy Lamarr

Dear Ms. Lamar

I know you don't know me
I'm just a kid over here
in a small Florida town with
honeysuckle sippy cups
hopscotch
drawn on the sidewalk
trees leaning heavy with
oranges big as your head
It's hotter than blue blazes
most every month
and we got preachers by the
dozens shouting from pulpits
'bout sin and wickedness
and there's boys and girls
and we're all supposed to be
getting ready to pair up
and walk down the aisle
for the marrying ways
Still...
It don't feel quite right to me
this pairing of me and a him
I really didn't know why I
felt so different, so strange
til the day I saw your movie
Sampson and Delilah

I wasn't paying attention
to the television
but then
your voice gave me
pause
I looked up to see you
draped with yards of fabric
that showed miles of skin
that glued me to the screen
as you struggled with your
beliefs and loving a lion
wrestling strong man who
heard voices he called God

You. Were. Beautiful.

Each time you
spoke
moved
or stretched out in elegant
repose
my heart beat faster
my stomach trembled
and warmth flowed through
inner sanctums that had
yet to occur to me
each new costume cleverly
conceived to excite my
thirsting eyes
so close I could touch you
and I wanted too
and it terrified me
and it exhilarated me
and I knew something
was forever changed on
a Saturday afternoon

Sincerely yours,
Your Biggest Fan

April 2 - No White After Labor Day

Your suits were 
as proper
as any worn by
Jackie Kennedy
pill box hat
gloves
that matched
high heels
also
your value
measured in
children born
shiny house
the husband
a worth you
thought your
only legacy
for me
the oldest
and only daughter
who must inherit
little did you know
the steel you
forged in the
midst of the
boney trail
of my spine
that held me true
to the me that
terrified you as
I learned from
the best as I
bore
all the pain
that filled your
heart 
spewing
angry raging
words and fists
as you railed at all
of me that was
imperfect inside
the tiny little
frame they fooled
you into believing
was all there was
for you...

April 1 - Trees

Tree 

I thought to
swing from your
mighty limbs
cool breezes
rustling leaves
plunging down
a quick jerk
a final snap
cinching the knot
that would untie
a lifetime of hurt
that steel wool
couldn't scrub off
a heart been
cracked clean in two
in those tender years
that burned a wound
so deep that every
day was the drowning
season in its depths

Sitting so high
above the earth
with forehead
resting to
rough bark
humming a few
bars of the only
song in church
that ever made sense
swing low
sweet chariot
coming for to
carry me home

But this is now
and the only
thing a tree will
eat this day
is the kite so
inextricably
tangled in her branches
Swing low
sweet chariot
I drop from the limb
returning to the earth
cause
kites are cheap