You couldn’t have stayed. They wanted to box you.
I hate saying the name of my barrio in public.
Who would want to touch us without violence?
Men tell you that all the time, and you eat out of their hands like a starving bird.
I have power but it’s not super.
He doesn’t see me. I see everything.
We arrive by the car-full, speeding, sugar-high, nerves jangling, as some of us are new to the weekend fuzzy communal trust fall.
I wonder if Richard and Erma are my real parents.
He said, “That’s not how a man should sound.”
This version of our world no longer exists, so I’m guarded.