F e a t u r e d P u b l i c a t i o n s
This Is Not The Death Poem You Asked For
i am not allowed to say ________ in my poems anymore. i am not allowed to use blood, or fuck, or god
i am not allowed to tell you about _________ or how many times ive knelt down to pray for ______ death.
i was told __________ was taking up too much space in my head that the poems of ________ were getting weaker, more predictable—
not allowed to tell you the questions i would ask when god came back
i am not allowed to mention ________ abuse, or depression not allowed to imagine my ________’s funeral or consider
the lilies i would crown each pew with
_________ has to be healthy, smiling more pretending for the poems—
i am not allowed to tell you about bell
or my family
or how many times ive had to change her name
in these poems
also, the little girl can no longer be _________ in my poems.
she must be __________
always be ________ in my poems
El Color Rojo Signifa Pasión
ive always believed that the universe invented the color red for Latinas.
this is how you hedge down the throat
say, hello to the precious pill in your head, the precious pills in your head--
there is a backlog of memory in my head: in my head: in my head:
say human, again
the wine spoils, momma you are a blanket of sad afternoons.
she is she first set of hips i raked and left.
i tear them whole or not at all.
this is when you unlearn the starting over this is when you get to start over
you are the primal life force, child.
[red is the color of the Catholic’s crucifixion:
the same color they will associate with your death.]
if a third hue were to exist: you would still be deliberate