The day the ships came my ancestors we not of the aware of the forced melting *** that would come into existence
The combination of french and spanish confused the delta slaves
Little did they know that neither language would stick on their burnt excuses of  tongues
The days the ships came New Orleans became the beacon of mulatos
And although the conquistadors could **** and beat their slave wives
Their spanish advances were not reciprocated due to lack of of heat to complete the melting
The languages that conquered the delta were combined into something that no outsider would want to encounter
That’s why the Americans came and took it like they did the rest of the country
They mistake the magic for voodoo then rebranded it for themselves
Centuries later the delta is still a melting ***
But it’s one my grandmother’s tongue was forced to forget
Her languages were lost next to her mulatto slave ancestors, left to spoil
So now when people ask
“If you’re hispanic why can’t you speak spanish?”
I can barely find the words in english to explain the years of torture my tongue has endured
When spanish speaking couples walk into my work
My tongue is eager to spill words it wishes it had the ability to create
My blood begins to hate itself over the fact that a third of itself is unrecognizable
My tongue is still waiting for the new boats to arrive and reconcer it
All it knows is to be conquered
No self defense here
When all you know is to be conquered
It becomes a challenge to think for oneself
My tongue can’t decide if english, spanish or french is better
My creole mind is yelling thousands foreign curse words not knowing which one is a true sin
Maybe the sin here is letting the burner stay on too long
The day the ships came
My slave ancestors looked at their spanish lovers and said
“My love, what shall we do once the french arrive?”
With their eyes looking into the horizon the conquistadors replied
“Es no problema para mi, pero tu, tu es la propiedad de estos”
Which according to simple history books means
“Good luck”

dear Alice,*

roses, your lips flushed red
violets, I am blue
without you here
you're too far off the garden patch,
I've been looking by the bushes nearby
hoping I'll catch a black ribbon at sight
one last glance

I've been here underneath the trees,
but you're just fading,
the colors of the skies are melting
to blue, to orange...
with vibrant scarlet
then velvet of darkness of purple
I do hope the wonders of the land are doing you well

though as morning came,
I saw a pixie painting me in blue
a bob cat greeting me with its pearls
I'm glad to say
I'm moving ahead the meadow,
getting attached with her metal clutches
as she's getting near my flower bed
but I do admit
your dimples and flowy locks
could not compare
I still miss you

from Little Red

i wish the birds would come grab me by the shoulders
and throw me into the air as high as they can
so that the drop is more dangerous
and i can’t feel a thing

i wish the school shootings and the bank robberies were places i visited
and that there was a gunman or a few there
so that they could take me out with a single shot
and i would die a short death

i wish the natural disasters would swallow my body
and take the life out of me right away
so that i can float in my own misery
and wish i was never here

I wish the terrorists would come for me
and threaten to ****
so that i could be taken away
and never have to return

i wish life would end
and i could go to heaven
so that i could be happy
and never cry again

i wish i didn’t go that day
and stayed right in my bed
so that this wouldn’t have happened
and i wouldn’t have to say I’ve been *****

There was a Promise For Two
    
I am here, because, there was a promise for two.
     It was a commitment  to their bond,  
     a mutual elective.
But Maria’s beam disappeared after five hours.
     Separated from mother’s womb,
     her innocence was unable to endure the rigors
     of an indifferent world,
She was suppose to be daddy’s little girl,
     Mommy’s alter image and brother’s shining star.
     Soft....angelic.
Their expectations converted to muted despair.
     A balanced homecoming became questionable.
     and over time, insurmountable.    
The heartaches began to escalate, and eventually barricade concern for the mysteries destiny.
     Tears fell, for what never would be,
     tears for dreams,
     and tears for abandoned dreams,
     tears for Maria.
Two years past
     and I was the one chosen to replace her shadow.
     Conceived to witness the hearts vacuum.
     To kneel, with my back straight, next to an older brother before the hallowed space,
     where, under the tightly packed sod, among uniformed columns of god’s beloved children,
     sweet Maria lies in peaceful repose by the stone Grotto.
My adolescent hands squeezed the polished silver,
     as they pounded the cross into the unforgiving earth.
I pondered my existence, while questioning my replanted tangibility,  
     trying to comprehend the equity of life through a spectral identity,
     and  wondering where my place might be, if my sister had prevailed and flourished.
One day, I returned to place a wooden crucible where the silver once glimmered in the sun.
     I marked her name in burnt lettering.
Again,  the effort was pilfered by the same callous world
     Maria’s tiny fingers refused to touch.
There was never coherence, but, eventually I understood.
I am here, because, there was a promise for two
     and for a small coffin,
     that was lowered into the cold ground of North Arlington.