agua estancada
1. always i
wanted
my
hair
tight
behind
my
ears;
prim & trimmed &
a little corrosive--
these are the decrees
of soap, all
that lonely backwater
breeze.
2. agua estancada,
3. like the song you
want to sing with your
mom, but
are too embarrassed
to even
follow along.
4. she had a songbird
in her throat.
everybody knew
it.
i had one,
too, judging
by all that noise when
it was
quiet
but it must have
died in some
pharyngeal tube
not enough water.
is what we've taken
to calling it:
the mouth of the
riveted bloodcourse
behind
town.
some have heard it
whisper,
i heard,
but when i walk past,
i yank my grocery bags
back, &
for another day
decide
it is none of my business.
5. the past is
in the water,
and we all want
to be sub-
merged,
surreptitiously
sunk
into the afternoon bed
of our grandma's
house,
the tablespread
where the
whole tired
gathering
would sleep.
the mango tree
lulling
a palmful too far from
your single
stretched
arm.
how the wind almost
seemed to be
sorry.
the dentist is
the only place
on earth where i am
good
about my pain.
i tighten my
fingers, clenched;
split my
spine
from the
seat;
and my eyelids
crease.
i am good,
and by the time
we're done,
i am clean.
7. always
i used to want
my
hair
tame
and
good
behind
my
ears.
no pulling, no
splitting, no
creasing.
8. as early as memory,
i dreamed of my hair as
falling water;
un salto
979 metros de
alto.
in those
dreams, i'd remember
us singing.
