Sábado, Early AM & The Songs I Still Sing
The songs of ayer won’t ever fade, /
Your guitar’s strings I strum, /
And your old records still play. /
Category: Poetry
Abuela
se volvió hacia mí y, /
con ojos trasnochados /
y una cara como la mía, /
me devolvió la llamada /
Nopal en la frente
My barrio allowed me to see the dark side of cholo culture /
but it also taught me the proud side of our gente /
the language of the pachuco, órale! /
los alfas visten de rosa
los alfas visten de rosa, /
como Juanga, como Walter /
adornados con lentejuelas /
con flores y mariposas, /
Black Beans and Ham Hocks
Sometimes, I feel like the ham hocks /
left in the pot of beans to soften.
3 Poems
“You aren’t Latina,” they say to the sapling, who could have /
thrived, stretched into the sky, rooted in the cleaving of scarred parts. /
Infra-realisticamente
Guadalquivir /
se llama el río /
donde un antepasado /
(“con dudas”) se persignó /
por última vez //
descabezado. /
La casa & Post-Caliban Blues
this is not Ithaca /
this is Borikén /
and the house dwells beyond façade /
To Otto René Castillo
Oye, Otto. /
Siguen unos allí, sin poder hablar. /
They can’t talk. /
Skulls and bones. /
The Floor Is So Cold & Teocani and Alejandro
The floor is so cold /
she told her sobbing mother, /
my lips are blue. /
Drunk Tíos & I Used To Work at a Liquor Store
The first bitter taste of alcohol /
burns their throat /
but slides like honey /
they listen to some old Spanish songs that crack from muffled speakers /
of their old, beat-up Silverado in their driveway