I feel older, but it's mostly because I am
and this house  it’s old too even if you refuse to
admit it
“my parents were the first to live here” was the phrase
and all the parts that need fixing   the dripping walls
the cold waters    boiling what we can for warmth
the smells emanating from the wood floors, marked
by feet of all types and grimy shoes
it all adds up
the panic, anger, and desperation

so i sent you the dirtiest of pictures   with bad
intentions   too
and envisioned your eyes trailing the body
of another woman  
I made myself sicker in your presence
and let your house consume me

I almost forget her name,
the one who sent you the picture of her
pink ****  who maybe, in a moment of angst,
wanted to feel wanted.

I mean, I get it.

Woo-wah Hur-rah   hey Zach,

Is this thing   funny or not?

It’s mid-March already
and I’m still sad and fat  but hey,
I’ve got a cat  

all slick black  with one white spot

Woo-wah Hur-rah   hey Zach?

Bet you saw  (well did you?)
its   street-smart    jaw   ******
a New York City pigeon’s   *****-*** wing    

oh man,

that coil sling cat jumped forward    I screamed
as he clung to his prized catch

my cat, it swings and wrings the things that fly all around our terrace

Holy Mackerel,  did you see that?
almost gave me the shiver to see him jump so high,
that little cat  testing death  

for a taste of  pigeon  pie  (or fries)
whichever suits his fancy

Hey Zach, catch  that-
there’s a small cat on the  2nd floor
waiting for a Ramsey Gordon worthy dish,
Doors and windows can’t hole him in,

And I fear  it’s a meal he might   literally   fall for.

Hur-rah, fupa? Or maybe something less…you know.
My cat    lunged like a living sling-shot  
almost over the railing
Pigeon-pied eyed, without a thought

****, testing death

Hey, Zach?
Isn’t that funny?

Seems fitting   like a good thing
to have you in a   poem   forever  the kids
that weren’t mine   or me   no matter how
much I wanted   us to  feel   like family

Seems fitting   to dream P.  up a star
playing  for a big  soccer league  on a field
surrounded by admirers  for his smile, his wit
his laughter    

And would he  remember me   the Elsa girl
who watched funny animals  with him so he
would smile, left behind from  a trip    one of the
so very few the kids   here ever get

and you   what to even write? the swings  
the ocean   the waves of your spirit    the strength, dare I say
that made you  up from scratch    on dark days
the dreams that kept you up, and up, and up

and just like a shudder    you both came and left
leaving  your steps in the hallways   of here
leaving your faces embedded in my    heart
taking with  you  all the good things  I wanted you to take

all good things   like the dreams
of success, of power, of happiness, of love, of truth, and redemption

i walked 16 miles with you for Pokemon Go,
even though I knew I didn’t want to, or at least,
I’d have rather done something else

like walk romantically near a lake,
have a coffee at a corner,
eat expensive chocolates at a museum
go to the movies
kiss uncontrollably

so when we made the 14th mile, I could resist no longer
the anger
the urge to fight any woman   like me   craving your attention

and so I smacked my cheek, hoped someone took a picture

and called it a day

My sister is the keeper of nice things  some
cheap  and others   expensive
like Pandora bracelets and quality hair products
for her curls  and she likes  fine dining
and also Entenmann's pound cake,  just flour, butter, and
high fructose corn syrup

My sister is the keeper of nice things, that smell good
like the soaps she uses, the conditioners and body wash
from Marshalls (the good stuff) and those yellow Vitamin Waters
from 7Eleven and the Cheetos.

My sister, she is the keeper of nice things, like
fresh laundry, and comfy sweaters  and hot chocolate
on winter days  and laughter after school,
She is the keeper of nice things, colored socks and
forbidden pastries, creamy fillings and boy talk,
inside jokes and meaningful music

My sister, she is the keeper of nice things,
like books by Jane Austen and Gabriel Garcia Marquez,
like rantings on a rainy day and a million other things
I can’t think of.

My sister-she is the keeper of nice things, that smell good
some cheap, others expensive…

My eyes wrinkle with pain and discomfort
probably from the toxic levels of ammonia   in my room

my cat’s spray  marking territory
no matter how  barren

If you listen closely   in fact   you might hear the sound of the mice in our walls

I asked you a ***** question last night
I was pungent too, interrupted showers
or from the natural  odors this body emits from
stress   and work   and undesirable outcomes

I had moved from my seat to the bed, littered with unwashed garments and ties,  on one corner
stained with blood from my cycle

I had
forgotten to  dab it quickly


And here I found my little life
open and  defective   like a   child’s
suggestion   to     read     the Bible

My garbage overflowed  with rotten items
processed   foods, exposed to the airs of my room,
the sniffs of my cat    and other critters

My eyes  shifting forms  red and gauzy

Maybe even     not even me

Just a mirror     of an old human  feeling
like desire, hate, envy

Summoning   death   for all the wrong reasons

to converse   like old friends
to be let into a secret  room

to become some  thing better

the choices were endless   the maps
you could trek   and run through   the shrubs of
all colors    and whether or not a killer would
catch up to your swiftness and  hang you on a hook

on the screen   I could see the reflection of your eyes
how big they   get  and how  disciplined your fingers are
on the control   as you press A B  or C   or D

how  endless were the choices   of who
you could be   and also, the clothes  and the hairstyles and the poses
how endless…

My parents hid   the bread  you used to love
when  we’d all sit  down  drink coffee   munch on a few
Maria cookies   how’d you jump from side to side  small paws
at our legs   asking for crumbs   when  they left
I searched for   the bread   and found it  hard and stale
on the top  kitchen   cabinet    I poked a hole into one
bun   and filled it with  cheese    
imagined how you’d   beg me for
a piece

in my head,  you are made of honey and steel and I am
always trying to appeal to your sweetness
and get
past your metal

Funny enough, he had been coming
up Snake Hill, was crossing the street and passed
by the Jewish bagel shop
I knew it was him the moment he  walked by
and his eyes
skimmed me without  feeling
Half of me wanted him to recognize me entirely  
including the awkward conversations and little notes on
the stairs   the poems and songs I’d sent him to woe
his heart    but maybe I just wanted his privilege
his strength    his shadow  to become mine

Vlad was still himself,  iced eyes, and blonde hairs sticking out
of his baseball cap
He was still tall and resembled the likes of a demi-God, a character
fit for myths and fairytales

And I was still me or had I become better or worse?
Still my stubby self, desperate for the affection of something
legendary

Destiny   speaks   like a Queen     even
though    you may not love     her now      I don’t envy
her   for the love you gave her      I envy
her strength    for being  able to survive without it

I was thinking about  my upcoming trip to see you
and for some odd reason, my mind did not drift to
worry-wort antics   or end-of-the-world scenarios
instead  I remembered about that time
I peed on myself because I was so drunk  
and my shirt was heavy with puke

and you took me home
(I can’t imagine your embarrassment on the 6)
and you took all my clothes off and laid me down
on your bed, covered me with the warmest blanket
and held me like there was no tomorrow
and you whispered: “ it’ll be okay.”

And it was okay.
And you even put my clothes in the washer.

When I was younger  I listened
to Avril Lavigne on repeat   especially
during long summer months in Colombia
I thought I was  somehow edgy  
and I thought my love affair  was something
out of a book   something of a story
to be heard  in her music
But    it wasn’t
It was   sweaty   awkward   and false
something  full of little questions  
none of which had important answers
It was feeling   bad  for feeling good
And feeling good   cause it felt bad
It was too much    too soon

My uncle took pictures of me   and so easily
I’d forget I wasn’t  keeping my belly in, and he’d
hover the camera around and as I’d turn away
as to not ruin the scenery  he would  remind
me gently how  I was the subject of his art

my father looked like a toddler as he
stuffed his face with all that Chinese food,  black bean
and red sauces
sliding down his chin   my mother ate with
puckered lips as if the food wasn’t   good
but it was,  wasn’t it?

And I contemplated   about the fate
of my children   and whether the
thoughts  of dying   were sinful
and also about the   whereabouts
of my dead grandmothers  and  ancestors
and let’s not forget
the pets

I came home with a full stomach
but ate some more   in the kitchen
lights off  
my mother was on her tablet
I kept wondering if she’d look up
and ask:
what do you have in your pockets?

Well, would you like to know?
Some guava stuffed pastries, made by
a little Cuban joint in Miami International Airport
And about four slices of white bread.

And I stuffed it all in my pockets.

My mother   she said my name
and I wanted her to keep   on  saying it
just because I wanted him to hear
And  I know  I shouldn’t look  too long
into his eyes when he asks
“how’s her back?”
“from a scale of 1 to 10, how much is she hurting?”
So I stare awkwardly   around the office
At the old women on ellipticals
At former athletes trying to regain their strength
At the people---like my mother---with broken pieces
trying to get back their normalcy

I know I shouldn’t want him
to touch me the way he touches my mother
when he smoothes her knots, down her back
down into her waist and legs
He nods politely as I tell him about my mother’s
last visit to the podiatrist, how she had twisted
her ankle and he had kindly placed
a boot to stabilize it
He nods respectfully as I translate my
mother’s comments:
“el dolor no esta muy mal hoy”

“Today the pain is not so bad”

Slowly   it  embraces me
Slowly   it  becomes   the object
that   holds  my weakness   and
chews   it  

Soon     it
will regurgitate   greatness

When you saw me across the river,
You fondled the leaves of your belt
You tasted the blood from your chapped lip,
Curious to see if my dress was soft enough to rip
Or if your eyes could make me melt.

When you saw me across the river,
You begged for things I could not give.
So you took my body instead,
Asked for it to split-open and spread
As you commanded it to die and then live.

When you came to me across the river,
You tapped my forehead three times,
Sputtered your spells into my ears.
No sweeter sounds would I ever hear,
As you covered me in lavender and thyme.

When you came to me across the river,
My hunger for the wood was already there,
I thirsted for the waters that ran beneath us.
All I had thought I wanted was superfluous,
As above me you pounded and zestfully stared.

When you were finished with me in the river,
I was tempted to ask for your name,
Only to learn that here roamed many a wood-devil,
Those who keep the wild lands fruitful and leveled,
And turn people like you and I untame.

the false story is that I was only loved by my dog
that he was the only thing that understood me  truly
it is a story   with no plot   just about a chubby girl who
walks around with her sick coughing dog    but the truth is this-
for 10 years he didn’t cough

in fact    he jumped like a gazelle into bushes at the small park
and  ate challah bread every morning     we served him
boiled chicken on his birthdays  he’d open my bedroom
door with his muzzle like he owned the space
and he would sleep on our beds
with no shame

and that   well, that’s the true story

your family is  messy  but so am I
my parents fed me a story  that made me
believe on the 4th of July   that all
my troubles started when I fell in love
with you  and drank from a cup
in your roach-infested home in
the Bronx

hi there  what stories can I tell
that  will make   you not forget  the
girl  who appears here
every so often?
let me   plague  you
let me   haunt you
let me be   the fantasy   that I cannot
fulfill in person

hi there   tell me what hurts
if I dig  a little  deeper than most  
will you   think    I’m real?
will you   think    destiny has brought
two bored  craving  souls

here

you are not alone   I speak to many
just searching  for   someone
who isn’t here

how strange to have all my problems laid out
in front of me like a textbook
they tell me what my symptoms are
the emptiness
makes me doubt whether it really is ever real
the emptiness
the impulse to   eat  and destroy

my story almost sounds outdated

The bulb  shivered  and popped
like lightning     mama would say the
spirits are  out   trying to get our   attention

you stand at a large    rock’s edge
you say   things like    God loves each of  us    
as if         there were only one of us
you take pictures of   strangers   of lovers on hills
of your feet dipped in  red sands   I watch you
intently    trying to find   what connects  you to me
if there is anything at all    to salvage  or
create
you take snapshots  of your existence  when
you’re older, you’ll have them to  remind you
of your  adventures  on The Big Island  

you sound   like you’d be sweet  and gentle
but I’m   too misleading    maybe I just see what
I want to see     in you
So  what do I do        I like to  imagine the
endless possibilities  of your  character     would
you be the  type  to touch me   in early mornings
to check if I’m awake?  would  you   kiss my body
as if   it is something   new  to  you   all the time
would   you  be   the thing     that makes me better
changes   the inconsistency  of my   spirit    
really    who knows?

Where did we go, when it all came down
Some of us ran into the ocean   became mermaids
And some climbed higher and higher    into the sun
Where did we go   where’d we run away   I thought
I had it all under control   it was not the better plan though
Some ran    into a swamp   where gators  swam   and swayed
Did they sink? Or were they eaten? Or did some godly-thing occur  when
They found a kingdom   below

I look down at my dog   we both look ahead into the city
And i ask him: where did we go    we did not know   that
We’d take different paths    and i ran into the ocean
Because a wise man told me the salt   would heal
My wounds

my being changes   all the time
I doubt your love   and all the beautiful things
it has brought me    I feel myself forgetting   all the things
that make us   us   and binds   us   like grapes  in a bunch
I feel myself   falling   into holes   and fake
stories,   trying to feel myself    even though
I don’t know where   to touch  
where
do I hurt?
is the energy I’ve always felt    just sadness
that rolls from me   to you   to all the people
I’ve ever known        the food bloats my belly
but it’s always better than feeling nothing     how scared
I am to start crying out   of nowhere     scared of what
others may say about me

how much is too much    I just push you away and  want you back
it’s like a game    how far can I push you out to sea
and reel you back in  

how does it feel to be gutted?

i used to think  I wanted to be the most beautiful
girl in the world        possess perfection    so
pretty you    just could not   reject me
i had you     you had me      but it always felt  like
I could  lose  you to the    wind    or a wild thing   at
a party    or   at a bar with your friends   or from the
many travels around the world  
you’ve embarked on

recently i’ve been getting   compliments
people talking about   my   this or that  
but  yet    there lies  an emptiness    a little
black whole in me   that I am trying to
understand  
today I spoke     and you grew silent   and
there was   a distance    I haven’t felt for   a long time

And I learned that no   matter  how beautiful   the world
sees me     I will never feel enough  for you
Like an uphill    climb        I yearn
for the mountain view        

Perhaps  one day  I will  achieve  greatness

I spoke   all excited   and giddy   about
how an excellent   worker     I am     but really
am I?    so  after  the conversation    I don’t
know what I wanted from you
maybe   like   a “good job”    but  you were silent
and I understood      no matter how much
I want  you   to think   how cool    I am
I can’t      force   it  outta you

Every time   I beg for your    attention    
I remind   you
how much of a beggar   I am

Destiny   speaks   like a Queen     even
though    you may not love     her now      I don’t envy
her   for the love you gave her      I envy
her strength    for being  able to survive without it

you resemble the boys of my past     how once
I wanted   a broken   boy to find me in a well
and lure me   out with    his wild   eyes     sharp nose
blond  hairs        you       talk    mad     and quick
like you’re     high   on something   strong
and   I can’t keep up
I just listen     wanna please you     wanna be   worthy   of
something   confident    like   you
so I     just      listen        
let myself       fall for you

when i was younger   I’d go to
work with my father    and back then,
the company was small   and my father’s
boss    took me to   the back   where
they had started to    change the
furniture   and paint the walls    cause
the company was growing    and
he made me go through a whole
pamphlet of    colors   for carpets
and he asked   me:
so ***,   what would look best here?
And I pointed   at
pine needle    green.

As I grow   or whatever grown-ups call it
I begin to realize how broken    I was    how even
now, I still am      and how    I choose to
hurt you sometimes    because  I don’t want to
face   my fears   last time we got
drunk, I cried  uncontrollably   begging you to provide
answers to the greatest   questions of all      
like    what is this   the love I have for my parents     my dead dog
where did he go     nothing is forever     so what is it
that ties   you and I together     what is it
what is it?
How many times have you held me   close   wishing
I’d answer   my own   enigmas

and still, you call me back
and still, you hold
and still, you care

how you do it exactly, I don’t know

Even  though I am now 26    and I feel older
I don’t think   time  makes things  easy
it makes  it harder   and harder
I find myself   missing things

more deeply

all the time

my lover and I got stuck in a snowy trail  his blue car
couldn’t handle  the   deepness   the cold  and well, there
we found ourselves knocking at the closest door   and
he was saying     “we’re travellers in need of assistance”  and
I’m staring into a white woman’s blank face
trying to look serious
and her husband’s taking an important call, but she assures us he can
help us, if we wait   five   or  ten   or maybe fifteen minutes
so we wait   and then old Mark comes out  all kind with smiles
and he tells us   he’ll bring out his tractor
you and I listen to him  afterwards   talk about the bald eagles on ice
he’d see in Lacrosse, WI  when he was younger

he tells me you’re a keeper
he calls me  your better half

I wish I knew   if he is right

Here we are safe I think,
in the blue box that lets
only the two of us enter.
Here, I think we can speak
to shadows and the moon
comes down just for us,
in our blue box.
Upside down, my hands
against the blue walls,
I am not human. And neither
are you.

She wasn’t the wolf
under the bed or the one
who huffed the three houses
down when the pigs were
asleep. She wasn’t the one
who laid her head down
on that pillow while they
hollered words of
comfort and love. She was the
one who slept quietly
as he touched her feet and
touched her legs
and perhaps
kept her warm
when the drink dizzied
her up and her lips were
numb. I heard her.
And he said he loved her.
And I thought of her feet
very small with five toes
each and I thought
of her breath
her huff caressing
a strand of hair on
her forehead. That soft
inhalation as she felt his
hands between
her toes.

I may have been a doll
when I had tiny shoulders and
you could see the bones of my neck.
And perhaps you too, thought
yourself a sort of extra ordinary
creature who could change
my life. And it was for this
reason that I fell from the shelf
and hit my porcelain head on
the floor and saw my
little hand point towards you.
And I said, “Take me.”
And you said, “How?”
And then with my hand,
I took your hand, and
asked you to wrap your
fingers around my neck.

my greatness is never capitalized, never
existing or full, happy never
there are things i swallow and don’t
chew and walk up and down
without thinking   who are you man
to request a kiss or a handshake
from my prune-like soul   laugh
nicely with a yellow suit on your
shoulder   achieve greatness
for me and
tell me
a story of triumph
or of bruised oranges you liked to eat
before men fell from grace   I’ll listen
here
are you good and is it bad to smile
and have my heart beat fast when
you call me a princess
i told you it was easy
i was always easy
stupid and fickle and wanting and lost
and asking and talking with you of
fishes and the future
greatness is never capitalized  it does not exist
in love
or lust or any other element of the body and spirit
neither does it exist
in these words

Somewhere     where    I   was   not
You shook and pondered over my mean words
Words of jealousy      an insecure     spirit.
You are my best friend and yet
I screamed
I insulted
I spoke of beautiful ghosts and made you
Curious            but more than anything
Sad.
Still, I feel sad too.
But here, we can at least grow.
We can be.
Somewhere    where    I    was    not
You     shook      in another woman’s gaze,
pondered over my mean words,

Our insecure spirits.

my old friend   Kev gave me a call
and strange to believe   that I think it was a mistake
a ****-dial    made at 7pm     for old time’s sake

i tend to forget easier   now   if what we have is authentic,
so many things happening in our lives    school, work   we are
so afraid of our futures    what does it hold for us?
does music reflect us?     when I say    hey, I heard this song and it
reminds me of you            do you care  
I think    we are alone   now
the    way you hold me   is holy
flightless bird    find me    jealous   weeping

when i first saw him in my grandmother’s house in Torices, I cried with joy
never had I felt such love and adoration for a creature   so little   and innocent
so full of hope   and dreams   all he dreamt   was of loving us    and defending us
against dragons   and imaginary    monsters    the king of the house   how ordinary
it is   the love   a dog gives to its     owner         and yet  i looked upon him
with such   wonder     he fought      all fights   as if they were his last
i still see    his   brown eyes   and white against    dark walls
the bark     that broke  silences     and soothed    wounds  and pains
the touch   of a  wild  thing     tamed
how   we walked   we walked    we walked   and when he was young
he ran  like     water      
my little    thing      what do i call you?
you saw me    grow  up    grandpa   died   and then
grandma    died too      you met the boy of my dreams  and
made sure he would    not    break my heart
you loved    my worst   parts      loved my father   despite
his  anger    loved my mother     despite her faults
when you died,    I cried like the time I had first seen you
my little thing       close to me always
what a pair  we made   here      walking  in sync   just right
the sun shone  for us    on Thursday mornings     mom and dad
giving you a piece of your favorite treat
my little thing     how ordinary   it all is

Crying over a dog   is a bit    Xtra   no one wants
to talk about the little    sad things in life   like  sick dogs
with  broken limbs    weak breathing    desperate eyes
it happens   everywhere   that type of suffering

thank  you for saying    hello  and
not expecting  anything else from me

Sometimes    it’s just easier to dim  the silence
with conversations from fictional    heroes, villains,   normal
people   so unlike us

as my tendencies begin to stop---for panic   attacks
and anxiety-fueled
nights      of non-stop thinking  
back-and-forths about the
nature  of my spirit, good or bad
I start to fear more instead  
are all the people I love dead?
will my  dying dog kick his way into my room
and speak to me    truths  
I can’t bear to hear?

You want to separate yourself from me sometimes   but
my side isn’t willing to let go

Cooking side  by   side    I play music to
somehow        tell you all things   I cannot say
because   you won’t believe me       when I say

I want this to work  

Last night   you said  I wasn’t quite THERE
when you    pounded inside    you said your wrist never
hurt so much  from *******
all my head   thought   was     ****, is my body
that   hard to  *** to

I could understand how  you found it   upsetting
that   I was so   self-conscious    that I couldn’t even
see how you might like me
so you chose   to hurt me like I had hurt you

as I narrate your every move----cutting the tomatoes, the onions,
cracking the eggs      you signal the flaws within all my
descriptions          and  without mercy, you say

I think   I need to get myself    a new narrator

Ear   muffs on       you always
said   that      it all goes through one   ear
and comes out    the other     well, ma
sorry    to say it might be true
you       stare at me  as I finish  my french fries
why do you look on like that?     have I hurt you?
as fat  as I may  be    I’ve got more soul   than
you ever  did      you wish to be loved by your mother
and sisters          loved unconditionally     so much
that you can’t even    give me that

thick   my arms are   as I place them on the counter top,
smacking   hard   as you cry   telling me how my body
doesn’t deserve      to be loved    

Mother, I’ve found  solace   in being a wolf
natural    misunderstood    hungry  and         beautiful