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Poetry
Because I became allergic to chocolate when I was seventeen
because a rash spread on my chest when I ate mole sauce at Sanborns; because acne populated my face every time I drank hot cocoa; because I believed it to be easy to give up something I loved
June 2026City Chickens
I never thought // I’d end up like this, domesticated as a pet lamb, / with a mate who worries our hundred-year-old house // needs new everything, shingles to foundation.
June 2026
Separation
There is a dead snake on the cracked road. My son says it’s not a dead snake. He says the snake has just shed its skin and left it there.
May 2026Boxer’s Fracture
My mother once put her fist / through drywall, nothing fractured // but that already-broken home, / a little more of her spirit and ours.
May 2026The Coast of Nowhere II
Sleet and black rain / pelting the eaves, the kind of predawn / that reaches through the window, hissing, / Your heart never was a bird let alone / a bright-red singing one.
April 2026
Moon Jellies
Some nights I dive into the sound / and let the waters have me. / I’ve felt the brush of a jelly arm— / they never really sting. It’s the glimpse / of that phantom-thing gliding beside me.
April 2026Los Vecinos
And we’re included in the golden circle / of familia, through no virtue / of our own, yet here she is again at our door / with a plate of something delicious, or a big plastic bag / filled with nopales from the edible pads / of the giant cactus in their yard
March 2026
Indecision
“Whether you go up the ladder or down it,” / says the Tao, “your position is shaky.”
March 2026Lasciare Stare
My father took a puff from his Camel / and dispatched his message / in smoky cursive, Lasciare stare, / then said it again softly
February 2026
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