Volver
“yo sé perder, quiero volver, volver, volver.” – Vicente Fernandez
He asks me my vices,
and I say, all of them.
I push his head back
down to the bookends
of me, untie the bow
of all the sounds
I had been keeping
in. I want unreasonable
things. I want the hook
of a lowercase f
to telescope into some nook
of me where no one
has ever been.
I settle for the the trail
of bruises on me
that they point out a few
days later when I return
to Ohio. Like a map
of where you were, I text him.
In the car, I put on mariachi music.
They ask, what is a grito?
Jupiter Isn’t a Mexican
Jupiter has a different sound, less Mexican
than the other work we’ve read,
—feedback from a white woman
Jupiter on my eye
chrome lowrider hubcap
cruising down San Antonio’s SW Military Drive
flour tortilla full of weenie and egg
faux silk birthday mum pinned
onto the black tuxedo of space
asking for dollars
Let’s Say I Am Only a Hand
after Natalie Diaz
If I am only a hand
let me map the acreage
your body rewild myself in a land
without borders if I am only
a hand my fingers graze
at your bones into the ladder
of your ribcage climb down
to your navel if I am only a hand
let me slide down the valley
where your thighs touch dip into the dark of you
let me come to you
a pair of swinging doors I enter
and disappear never before have I been
more animal
