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 May 9 Haylin
Lily
A is for Abigail, who shared with you a kindergarten trauma and
then forgot who you were in eighth grade, like Belinda, who
left without a word one sunday morning after mass, C is
Catalina, your best friend’s ex-best friend, who went
with you to Daana’s book launch in texas, and
Enrique, who you planned to room with in college but you hear from friends
crashed his car into a tree and joined the saints, but Flores had
another kid and his man bun is
slicker than ever and Gumaro, who you helped teach
english in fourth grade is still
hitting the gym beside Hiris, even as she
works at la perla full time and overtime, beside Isabella who
no white girl would talk to in middle school because they said she
smelled like dirt, or Juliana, punching
numbers into a cash register at the dollar general thinking
of falling in love with Kruz who made a
perfect vanilla cupcake candle in home ec but couldn’t
cook steak to save his life.  
Lucio remembers kissing you on the mouth in the church
nursery but he is now engaged to a white girl you’ve
never met, and he remembers a particular
messy Maria who would draw like her life
depended on it, and a Nadia who would cry in english 11
because her parents couldn’t help her with the homework
but still kiss him after her soccer games, who no longer
bothers to call Olivia, even though they were teammates for
a decade and now she works at her own sports shop with
a daughter who could have gone pro if only.
Profe, who was a migrant “helper” at your elementary school,
laughs at it all, remembering yelling at parents in spanglish,
although you heard her husband yelling at her on the phone at lunch,
laughing when Quito broke one of the chairs that the school bought with
its 4 million dollar bond that drained money and morale, who went
out with Romani and started a band in seventh grade that took
longer than usual to fizzle out, and the bullying stopped for a while, though
Sergio would never forget how it felt to bend down for hours with
bad black bruises up his back, wouldn’t ever stop
reliving every labored breath spent both here and there.  
And Thalia couldn’t even make a living, recalling almost
forgotten days of swingsets and slurping
pelon pelo rico tamarindo under the orange tube slide.  
Her ex-husband Umberto everybody but the feds
forgot about, and V is for Victor, the high school goalie who had to quit because he
strained his wrists in the fields, like Wanita, who is trying to raise
money for her second hip replacement, like father Xavier, who carves statues of
woodland creatures for the children he could never have, and
Yesenia, who sewed and sewed until her fingers curled and her
forehead wrinkled beyond repair, and she tells you that Zaida, who made the
best tamales in town, is now gone to the saints, and no longer
fears anything, even the government and their obsession with
small white slips of paper.

So much in a name, in a hyphen, in a tilde, but no, it
should be under V—“virgulilla,” and their names should be
written in your address book but instead
they’re in a list at some office in
the States underneath “undocumented” and “illegal.”
After John Keene’s ‘Phone Book,’ Dec 2021

hey y'all, it's been a while.  I'm trying to come back from hiatus and get back into writing and also to use my voice for bigger things.  I hope you like this poem and that it makes you think :)
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
cleave
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you

The sand polishes the toes
***** tango in the sand
Stars perform ballet in the black
The fire sparks against the stillness

Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you
another product of my English class
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
why?
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
When
    did I become an acquaintance, an object you pushed to the side, only used when necessary?

When
    was I not the first person you texted with news, not the first person you would say hi to in the morning, the first person on your mind?

When
    did you cut me off with rainbow bruises and lightning scars, and the thunder of your footsteps left me alone?

When
    did you create that perfect storm, that hurricane, that took me away, so now I don’t even know you anymore and I don’t even know what I would say to you now?

When
    did you stop loving me and

Why?
this is a product of my english class
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
free box
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
The free box lies in the
Corner of the garage,
Where the crickets and the
Spiders and the raccoons live,
And the doll is slouched in the corner,
With more dirt on her than the garage floor.
Her hair is without color,
Her eyes without life,
As she stares up at the innocent
Garage salers who rarely give her a
Second glance.
She’s in the free box;
Why would anyone bother?
She’s been abused and neglected,
Despised and rejected,
And she’s finally done with it all.
She’s in the free box;
Why would anyone bother?
this was written at a time when I wasn't in such a good place; I am doing much better now and I'm hoping to write more :)
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
art
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
art
Perfectly curled caramel hair
Cascades down her shoulders,
Bouncing in time with the music.
He can’t help but savor every
Fragment of her movement as he
Traces the camera around her frame,
Capturing the dance.
She’s an actress in every sense of the term,
Her eyes sad yet powerful,
Her body hurting yet beautiful.
The music ends and she stops, breathless,
Her hair that has fallen in front of her face
Flowing up and down as she catches her breath.
“Did you get it?”
She asks him,
And suddenly he’s back to himself,
Back from the world her dance took him to.
“Definitely,” he says, and when
Her dimples break her face open,
The camera is still rolling,
For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty.
She isn’t just poetry.
She is art.
poetry girl pt. 5
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
giraffes
 Sep 2020 Haylin
Lily
Silent and so calm
Heads peeking through leaves and trees
Bright eyes stare, yearning
inspired by a trip to the zoo
 Jun 2020 Haylin
Lily
Teh (edited)
 Jun 2020 Haylin
Lily
You’d think that after
All this time I’ve spent typing,
That I could spell “the”.

Brain gets going way
Faster than my hands and then
Teh the lights go BANG! out.

I’m in a horror
Movie and I can’t break free, can’t stop
This train of thought from

Moving onward, but
Then my dreaded enemy
Appears on teh screen.

Teh red squiggly line,
Object of my nightmares, bane
Of my existence.

I’m forced to stop, move
Teh cursor away from teh
Train, draining seconds.

Must catch up with my
Brain, must… I must… I’m losing
Steam… then another

Teh.
My English teacher challenged me to write a funny poem, so I decided to add onto my old poem "Teh."  Enjoy~
 Jun 2020 Haylin
Lily
red
 Jun 2020 Haylin
Lily
red
i. a mother stomping through the house
her feet like a herd of elephants
smoke out of her ears, whips out of her mouth,
love out of her heart

ii. lights flash like a dream
cold surface of the stage lit up
with moving hip hop souls
music reverberates and then

stops

iii. shower flowing as a waterfall,
fists against wall, tears across face,
hair in mouth as the demon takes hold
and the surrender to sobbing begins

iv. the whole town is shut down,
stores closed, championship signs,
sweat in the eye, rainbow bruises
and frozen cheers are captured in time,
in the reflection of the trophies on the shelf
 Jun 2020 Haylin
Lily
I am on Mackinac Island,
Lying down on a big white lawn chair
In front of the Grand Hotel.  
The faint scent of fudge
Lingers on the air so I can almost taste it,
And my hair is getting constantly blown
By the wind that flows among the
Chairs, grass, and music.  
The music comes from the direction of the water,
Where an old style jazz band has
Temporarily set up shop,
Creating gorgeous silhouettes
Against the orange and pink sunset sky.  
The purring of the clarinet
Bounces off of me like the waves are
Bouncing on shore,
But even lighter than that,
Even lighter than the
Wings of the seagull trailing overhead.  
The clarinet drops in and out of sync
With the waves as the silhouettes start to
Bounce to the music.  
A distant bike bell dings,
But it matches so harmoniously
With the music that I don't notice it.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
A constant cycle interrupted only by
The saxophone and drums occasionally.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
The sun is set.  
Silhouettes turn to shadows.  
Waves, bike, clarinet.  
Waves, bike.  
Waves.
I hope you are all staying safe and healthy!  I can't wait for the time when we can go enjoy live music again.  Thank you for reading!
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