black-haired raven, might startle, take flight at any breath. Leave only
a rush of wing. But neither, neither turns to flee ~
they stare boldfaced into Fate, or Destiny.
Dancehall
“Aquel viejo motel”…Hannah’s weekly salsa
classes with Maria pay off ~ she spins
in a hot whirlwind
under his leading hands, already they speak
a language beyond words ~ movements, breath,
lust, stars, sweat ~ a circle clears
in the middle of the dance floor so they can turn,
dip, laugh, wink, grind, bogle, butterfly
beside, behind, & inside each other’s arms —
DJ switches to Super Cat & she switches her backside,
grinding into his hips. She runs her fingers
down his neck, makes him shiver…
she grazes his temples with her fingertips,
she’s breathless when the song ends.
Live Wire
It’s a throbbing pulse — live wire — this unspoken electricity
crackling between them like radio static ~ she isn’t familiar
with this hair~raising heat, how it streaks thru her veins for him.
After Tasha’s quinceañera, they stand outside,
in a loose circle with Beni & Carina, eyeing each other.
He keeps his distance, shy, but eventually offers
her some Juicy Fruit gum, asks her where she’s from.
Beni is busy laughing with Carina as they walk
to the corner bodega. They slowly pair off in conversation.
She twirls her hair. He smokes a blunt —
politely refuses his offer for some.
But her number, she gives him —
And under the blazing streetlights of Jamaica & Sutphin,
he kisses her, soft, right on her lips, then disappears. She stands
~ stunned in sweetness
Quiet
He’s so silent, she muses, watching him
stare at the sun slipping into the sea
from the docks at South Street Seaport.
She loves his quiet, how deep & still he is;
an indigo ocean inside him.
his chiseled cheekbones show the sharpness
of his unspoken hungers, his eyes, deep pools
of the quiet sorrows he carries.
She laughs & talks constantly to fill da spaces,
her fears, her insecurities, the lacunae,
but learns to Still, with him — to relax
into the moment. Breathe. He doesn’t say
much, mostly one-word answers. Never one for small talk,
he finds other ways to reach her ~ twirls a long
grass blade by her ear, tickling her, chewing its ends,
picking her up & carrying her piggyback down salty blocks.
He’s a little kid inside, rejoicing in play.
She lets her guard down, her petals unfurl;
lets her smile bring a spark of sunlit joy to his harsh world.
She feels safe & calmed by his quiet, lithe grace
as a candle cupped in two warm palms. She softly glows ~
Ay, mi Angelito.
Te quiero…te amo ~
mi cielo.
El Cantante
Yo soy el cantante, and she is my Song, he sings,
a bit tipsy & slurred on his third Corona.
Y canto a la vida ~ De risas y penas
De momentos malos ~ Y de cosas buenas
Angel sings to her
to romance her, cuz words fail him
often. He used to stutter,
when he was little.
So he lets his lean, sinuous body speak for him
and instead croons a high falsetto ~
Y nadie pregunta, Si sufro o si lloro
Si tengo una pena ~ Que hiere muy hondo
Hector’s words say it all, Esa Pena — so deep —
are there words for it in English?
Pure
He was red-boned, Taíno Indian & Boricua blood, lithe,
big, dark brown eyes like a child’s, thickly lashed,
mistrustful, skeptical, mischievous, limitless ~ beautiful, watery, & deep.
Delicately handmade with iron wire.
Ashy until he shines with Vaseline lotion. He dreams of 747s
~ piloting sleek jets in pale blue skies.
Got fine cupid’s bow lips, his eyes narrow,
high cheekbones glint when women act like players ~
stone~cold, gold diggers, rugged sisters
like his sister, who carry box cutters & brass knuckles,
who have bad habits that dust their noses white
while they scream at kids to callate la boca all night…
This one, she looks innocent, so pure to him!
He can tell she hasn’t even smoked a cigarette,
a church girl~kind, but moves like Sin when she walks in.
Later that night, on his stoop, he exhales smoke~rings from his blunt
& in his mind, he replays his brave, warm kiss,
how they danced to his favorite song in unexpected bliss.
Tom & Jerry
The first time Hannah visits Angel on his block,
he’s not where he’s supposed to be ~ on the corner
slinging rocks on his workday ~ he played
hooky to get a pizza ~ so all da familia
on Hart Street got a good look at his new girl —
She hears whispers from da stoops, mira la Chinita.
She sits on one in the hot sun, asks a tough-looking Tita
with a slicked ~ back bun, Is Angel here? Why, she say. You his new girl?
Angel saunters up, kisses her, and claims her with
his arm around her shoulder. Sun bright enough
to make them wince, they go inside a brownstone apartment,
dim lit & bustling with kids. Tita Angie softens, offers them arroz con gandules.
They feast. Afterwards, he holds her hand as they
watch Tom & Jerry with his little sweet cousins.
Street Rat
Ay, he’s a street rat, Wanda says.
Every homegirl gives her two cents
on Angel’s dropout, drug-dealing
rap sheet. At lunch, Inez
warns her off Puerto Rican men:
Girl, they hit. They lie.
Got mad cheezes on the side.
Y celoso, not even romantic! Worse than Dominicans.
But no one knows how his eyes turn
her into legend, how his arms
shadow her like falcon wings…
In bed, words fade.
Only kisses, sweet as psalms.
No one knows his heat, his calm. His iron song.
Leaf
See her? She’s tired of it already, wants to fly
or fall, dare gravity to break her. She’s tightroping
her balcony, fingers outstretched like starfish grasping
for birch leaves and branches,
to steady her when she wavers, twists.
Leaves shiver like dried husks of vermilion angels.
They crown her hair
in a red rain. Far away, Donahue drones.
Dorito crumbs fleck the carpet like confetti.
Farther away, her uma sits, masked,
spraying rainbows on Glenda’s acrylic nails. But out here,
God — saplings snap in her hands. Below her, a grass grave.
Her heart jackrabbits; she’s balanced on an edge. Trembling,
no angels to watch her tiny, wild steps.
Boys
Yo, she’s
