January 2023

Why is there (under this sea) always
an other sea? Scrolling through miles
of leopard-print bikinis, I wonder, could I go
“all out”? Just imagine where my cleavage should peak,
would peek from under—do I go for side or classic?
Which stretch marks will I sun, running
like shoals of mica palmed by waves?
Will I add a shell
accent…

soy llaga abierta
del lenguaje

decir poco duele

In this unveiling: a rain-stabbed
blackbird’s obsidian sigh rises

from meat-fragrant slits
in our speech patterns,

where a way of seeing home,
smeared on walls with elbow blood,

is also a way of nozzling
bird caw to thieved land,

or scissoring fog-lobed night
into crescent moons,

while a bell’s deoxygenated moan,
weeping for…