Each year she waited
For the next year to come
Pomelo mojito mixes
Teased her sun browned skin
She loved Santeria
Before she met this pale man
Who served her hidden fruits
In this sad extension
Of the United States
She was in sugarcane land
Before her teeth
Sunk into the creamy flesh
Of Miami’s Atemoya
Some pulses go
To lay down, and quiet
Some pulses flee
To find trumpets or drums
I’ll watch the hawk
with green eyes
I’ll watch the treetop
The land of otherwise
Creeping around corners
What is that I see?
Two big eyes staring
Staring straight back at me
Somber stories are worn
Somber stories be told
Of a child much wiser
That never grows old
The stairsteps, creeking
My thief’s gloves are peeping
What is it I need?
The warm heart that’s beating
Their secrets be theirs
My secrets be mine
To be stolen, unwoven, retold
By trepidatious time
