Palomas
en la Frontera
We wore our coats
beautifully,
glistening in red velveteen
that shimmered like blood.
In the right kind of
sunlight,
our razor blade eyebrows
arched magnificent like
black crayon sickles
Stenciled hair like a
gateway
to heaven above our eyes
an archway
If you dare
into our gaze,
but when the night fell,
casting her shawl across
our small border town
young bodies press into
the sides of a car
any car
leave behind the
thumbprint of our desire
our anger like smoldering
charcoal
the shame of our fathers.
Flames licked at our shadows
as our virginity slipped
through our fingers
stark images of our female
selves
cut against a milieu of
masculine lowriders
parked around the circle of
fire
We didn’t imagine us
as young mothers one day
men we did not or did love
caressed
our eager ears with their
shrapnel tongues
To fuck or fight our way
into the desert air,
bulge against a backdrop
of cactus and dried mesquite
The legend of the Chola
see her there, dancing in
the moonlight,
arms embracing the lunar
verbosity
ferocity gleaning the carnal
smile
and Mad Dog 20/20 breath
existing only in cliche
But we were something
harder than that, rocks
without smooth edges
belt buckles,
brothers emptied
of their blood in a manic
drive‐by,
our mothers in their aprons
slapping our behinds
with wooden spoons
like crucifixes
beating the devil
from us.
Our near future
the long lines we will
wait in to gain the coveted
commodities of cheese
and powdered milk
The part of our brains
that recognize such
incidents
make us the lovers we are
even me, in my diluted ways,
book pages swirling in my
head
no type of academic rant
could beat this night
this night with arms like
brute
strength and prison tattoos
Hold me, held me,
made me one with my girls
convinced me of violence
beautiful, slow moving
violence
that somehow by the end
of the night makes babies,
fabricates love
in the backseats of cars
cries out into the air
a cumbia riddled with
spur and cacti,
a red fist
We are bent on destroying
ourselves
I am bent on destroying
myself
The open eye of the moon and
the burn of tire
black smoke shredding the
night
ritmo inspired legends
lead me to believe I could
love like this
love like I carried a razor
blade in my back pocket
Here no one gave one good
goddamn
that my name was inked
across some college degree
that I could recite all of
Frost’s poems in a single
breath
dissertations have no
dominion here
So, I fall back with the mob
sashay my hips and dance
with Manny at the local
saloon
two‐step with young drunk
ranchers named Bud or Shay
or Cliff
make my way easy with
tequila
at two‐dollars a pop
a squinty eyed piece of lime
squeezed down my throat
and don’t think
nothing of no professors
Tonight,
I shove back into me my home
I once rebuked
for lettermen jackets and
scrolled diplomas
Choke me in memory
strangle the moon
until I cough up
the dry sweet granules
of desert and the salty sky
that rims my glass
Until I see, see
see my way
back to me.
BACK
NEXT