letter to my father (in English)

 

this language i intend to master

this language i use

to sculpt a liberated life, to fight

like haitian

for my art, for my wife

 

this is the language that stole

your time, your dreams, your daughter

and so i speak lesbian and you speak

unnatural, american and we stop

speaking to each other. father,

 

love is my favorite word

i write it

with you in mind as i live

with a woman

in my heart.

Malden, Massachusetts

 

My mother won’t feel

the knives inside

her tomorrow. A hysterectomy

requires general anesthesia.

 

We are severed from each other

these days. I work

in Portland. Art. She looses

sleep so watches cable

in Malden, Massachusetts.

 

She called to say she’s proud

of me, that my little brother’s now

using Trojans, and the doctors

told her the fibroids cyst, fisting

her uterine walls, hungry

like an unwanted child.

 

It’s all over with, she mumbled.

Her birth-giving she meant.

Will you miss the blood? I asked.

I miss you, she said.

 

wolf

 

there is a wolf in my bed
but i don't cry. the boy cried.
they called him a sissy,
ignored him.
i learned from this.

wolf be slobber
all over me.

canine teeth like needles
pricking my pointer
finger. blood.
there is so much blood.
i don't point. i just stick it

in my mouth and suck
like i'm told.

wolf growl bitch
do what you're told
and don't tell. if i bark, he will murder
my mama. she has been chased
and bitten. now she ignores

wolves. when they sense
fear, they attack, she tells me.

i learn from her.
i stay still through
the sniffing
and clawing, the gnawing
and grunting. he don't wear

sheepskin or granny dresses.
no collar, no tags, no latex.

he got big
teeth the better
to devour me with so
i am dying but
i won't yell.

no one will
hear me howling

inside
his gut. here, side
this doggone
crying
boy.