at a certain time the kitten stopped moving I wanted to see if it would burn
rain like cane fields when they’re scorched after harvesting
through the phone Abuelita remembers the black kitten I threw in the fire
still trying to crawl out that ash isn’t snow Abuelo said shirtless
I picked up a mound in my hand if I look back at my front door
barefoot kids in the street try catching the flakes on their tongues
come visit us they say nextyearnextyear I’ll try again
dust covers the roof my toys my hair my expired work permit burns
black the sky it is march again & again there’s no wind
Abuelita asks us to send a bag of autumn leaves she wants to keep
in a book the color so pretty interesting what if there’s no wind
I ask while acid at Joshua Tree camping the slight movements
of the twigs of the ocotillo sound like mice deep in their burrows
with the silence of only this pen writing the only words I can hear
hella yellow now I’m in a similar dirt to Abuelita’s yellow but here there’s healing
the cold the sky the same I’m staring at clouds the same
thought of then now again I could this could be the very cloud
the very dirt but this time I’m happy yes I can be I’m smiling
Source: Poetry (April 2018)
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