As I opened my pack of starburst. I saw that I got a yellow one. Immediately I was upset because I was hoping to get a pink one. Then I realised that this mentality is polluting lots of people. Y'all sit here and want these pink starburst, but you overlook the yellow ones. So mainstream. Yeah the pink ones are good but the yellow ones are different. They have a little zing to them. I guess most people can't handle that. Don't stress over being a pink starburst. Embrace being a yellow or any other colour of starburst. You are different, and different is beautiful.

Sullen irony of the estranged
Ever homeless always
Somewhere on the home bound trail
With a Phoenix of hope
Killed by day and reborn
Under a symphony of moon light
It never ends until
It's done and only time
Keeper knows when the clock strikes
The rhythm of your finale
So shall I  step from the shadow
To be or hide to be seen?

The colors of your shirt stick
to your skin
Swollen, tired, tattered
The dirt collecting
Under, Over, On

In the stillness of the new moon
You became a mother
A wife
A daughter
Through the thickness of the humid air
the sweat collected on your brow
the nape of your neck
A crying child
A barking dog
Some butter on a scalding skillet

Oh, Marisol!
If your hands could speak
The scars and lines would serenade the sun
and soothe your cousin's swollen cheeks
the gold in your teeth
would shine each time you smiled
and said goodbye

but
your chestnut hair is whipped by the wind
instead
and laced black leather boots
tower over you
in the haze
they grasp your arms
as if they are their own
and cover you in white
to protect themselves

Oh Marisol!
it is now late at night
but you shine for the love you brought
with you
across six nations
all of them packed
and stacked neatly
you carry them strapped on your back
like the sun kissed streets of Cuenca
cultivated, preened, and compressed
put into the back pocket


It is in dusk when you lay your head
Down on that cold, dry, earth
And grasp that plastic bottle to your breast
Closed eyes and memories of sunrise
20 miles away from the southwest


America rises still beyond
Fences lined with flowers pale
As white and rich as all those men

But towers over you of course
and in the shadows of the Joshua trees
You can depart for home again

The first glass was smiles,
He’d tell us that he loved us
Or that we made him proud
Warm glow from the fire reflected the sloshing contents of his drink on the walls
A blurred dance of celestial lines and shapes.
We took in his light like the inhale of a breath,
Feeling so glad to have earned his praises.

Fifth glass was slurred words
Crawling from the corners of his mouth like a rat escaping a sewer,
The smiles were gone.
We stood still with anxious ticks unfolding before us
Afraid of what would happen if we were to speak
The fire was fading, the dance nearing an end

Glass eight brought anger
Shouts spiraled from his chest, a tornado that we couldn’t cross
Words flew by us,
Glasses flew by us,
Fists flew by us.
Too scared to move, our backs pressed against the wall
We tried our best to disappear
I closed my eyes and held my hands together hoping that the small amount of pressure would be enough to make him lay his hands on someone else that night

Twelfth glass brought sleep.
With his body still we could move again,
His neck crooked to the side, an empty glass in his hand.
No liquid left to reflect.
A sleeping serpent laying in the center of his destruction
Broken glasses and thrown picture frames at his feet,
It became hard to believe he had caused this a moment ago

Now seven years later I find myself at a party
The bass so loud I could feel my body shake,
Red cup in my hand, liquid sloshing with familiarity
Without a pause I am drinking one glass,
Then two,
Then three,
I wonder how I let myself become the thing I fear most like a reverse metamorphosis into my childhood,
And now when I look in the mirror I don’t see me,
I’m stuck looking into his lifeless eyes
And I don’t know how I can change this,
How can I run when the monster resides inside of me?
I don’t know how I can separate myself from him when every time I see a drink I hear my mother’s scream
Blurred images of memory and reality surround me and I am once again too afraid to move
Back pressed against the wall, hands pressed together.
I am my childhood nightmares,
Completing the cycle and making ends meet
Once again I am back in that trailer and I wonder if I ever left

Half of the time we are silent.




I see the tip of your tattoo--the head of an eagle
at the nape of your neck below the delicate loops of a
thin silver chain -
and the thing about skin is that is whispers and pleads
to be seen or stung or washed

to be photographed, of course
mountains and valley exist on more
than one visceral plain, the earth comes
on more than one planet, one grain, we know.

That scientific studies show water to seek
the lowest point,
the lilac crest, the thoraclumbor fascia
(are we water? are you water? am I water?)
a percentage of it is water and the rest is
heart, the rest is soul

go stand beneath the water
and take your shirt off, take
your shirt off, gentle so that
the muscle doesn't stir, so
that you feel every inch of
cloth that doesn't belong
so that you don't see me
behind the lens
so that I don't
ruin what
good can
come of
being
naked.

at the beautiful sunrise at the stray cat
hiding beneath my van in the shade
trying to make believe she was hidden,
it brought me to mind that nothing can hide,
forever, eventually, some sun
breaks the hiding into dapples
of gold
and reflections of glitters
like diamonds
and sparkling cats eyes
trying to be
alive and
scared
of where she was
caught unawares
of the night ending