Profess No Thing

I am those words
you wrote
there on that page
can’t you see me?

You speak of
another reality
you want us to be the same
but different
but not that different

it would be too
uncomfortable
to know where i sleep
what i eat
who caresses me
and neglects me

lets put up that glass wall
so its just a window
not a mirror
just a faint reflection
you can choose to ignore

and when im done smashing every last
piece of glass
ceilings and walls
your damning finger
tells the authorities

seize her
seizure
erasure
erase her

but I don’t need
to die
to haunt you
my suffering will be felt
in absences of
paletas, elotes, flores y frutas
el mundo sin colores y amores
y los verdades

when the morning is gray and ashen
It’ll remind you
you let this happen

Wonder

Who do you wonder about?
who is imprinted on the corner edge
of that page
in your book
worn at the edges
of memory and time
but its still there

every so often
there is a line
a laugh
a look
comfortingly familiar

like the time you felt the warmth of the sun
touch
something no one had seen before

your fingertips know by heart
that worn, imprinted edge

there were the good
the bad
the ugly
all there
with their distinct
rips and tears

but only this one
you still wonder
like a child’s fingers
clasped around
a beautiful secret

who is it
that wonders about you?

Turista
What if I told you
that you were only warming up to my ideas?
If I’m Sacagawea, then what does that make you?
a Colonizer?

Name another river after yourself
And I’ll be rewritten in history.

people will say
I only “helped”
even though it’s a silenced truth
I was the only one with the first hand knowledge
to traverse terrain you’ve never encountered
i’ve tried to prevent you from being a scandalous footnote in history
Donner, party of none

when was the last time someone
was careless with you
because they were more powerful and you were less powerful?
Is it weekly, daily, monthly, yearly?
do you struggle to remember, to believe what your ancestors shove in your face everyday?
Trying to counter the horror of unspeakable harm with
voices that land like the brightness of the sun?

And despite all this, the fire set inside of me long ago extinguishes every drop of relief that’s offered.
It keeps them warm, but secretly, I long for water.
No, they can’t know what its like to labor for others
that labor
reserved for the less powerful
that leaves nothing for of oneself
but that footnote!

Is it any wonder why our brownness is shameful
but your tan is beautiful?
It would cost too much to know, to relieve us of that labor,
and extinguish that fire
so, you do the next best thing, and
warm yourself up to it.

For love.

Is there anything softer
to lay your head
than a lap,
the thighs
seated, folded, at rest?
anything more comforting
than the warmth of a tummy
when lounging on the sofa?
Is there anything more familiar
than the subtle rise and fall
of the chest
with each breath?

We are the trees
the wind
and the river
to love and be loved
just for the sake of love

and not for the size or smoothness
of a shoulder
the firmness of a tricep
nor the tautness of the neck

the body, the dirt, grass
the field
a safe place to land
our worries
the rain and sweltering sun
how welcome all of it is
when we know
we were made
for love