I.
im not easy to love: im quiet.
im not talking: mouthing mute.
im talking: not talking.
Muffles in the throat we all call a cough.
When i was barely a walk i became a paddle,
a weak tread against words before i drowned.
a. i could barely speak, barely breathe, barely get the words to say “can i use the
bathroom” in English. The body wet and im walking, and walking, and walking
until someone stops to ask if i can swim. im two eyes, pale skin, pink lips: my
Spanish a song that no one found the rhythm to.
II.
swallow the noise, make
the discomfort into
charred cotton.
Burns thick, burns slow,
courage burns you vicious;
charred me as i walked; walked; walked; walked.
Have you ever been the victim of silence?
b. It was 10 feet high and the water was 12 feet deep and i didn’t know how to say
please let me go, please let me know the words
to get y’all to listen. im a mute waiting for death, an eye of the storm before
everything goes all wind, all water.
III.
i didn’t mean to get nostalgic;
i just have a strange need
to be loved like i’ve been shot
nowhere fatal.
water dribbles out;
enter the cracks; mesh the lungs.
The jump: my body all doughy, staring down; seeing pupils dilated,
focused mouths flapping with wind.
A pool awaiting the sharp slosh of body.
c. i spent 3 seconds in the air and all i could hear was my father and my
mother—praying en el nombre del padre, del hijo, y del espiritu santo, amen.
IV.
i think my grief lies in the dribble
it lingers like mist underneath the tongue.
When i jumped, i felt the mist cling to me.
My body was ice shattering against
tense sheets of water.
That was the moment i lost the air; the moment i drowned, silent.
d. i was the water and the water was my lungs. Faucet at the lips, the life guards
kneaded my chest until i came up coughing all the Spanish that was in me.
V.
My voice is the water that breaks.
Carrying wet, i find myself leaking.
Eyes shiny porcelain.