Willie, baby, when Eloy showed
me the wedding rings I broke out in tears.
He had to get a doctor to calm me down.
I was so innocent, didn’t even know why
I followed him to Bolivia.
“Yo fui la más callada
de todas las que hicieron el viaje hasta tu Puerto.”
The sky fell. Willie, write me a poem that’ll bring
me back to life, papi. Be my distraction or I am going
to have to find a tall blue eyed angel
with baker hands, and lips like Jimmy Dean.
“¡A dormir se van ahora mis lágrimas
por donde tú cruzaste mi verso!”
Negro, I’ve murdered myself so many times the effort
is starting to hurt. Someone stole my poetry, they wanted
to teach me to write on paper. Ha, as if everything I do
isn’t written in blood on paper.
I begged mama to help me die
but she refused, had to slash my own wrist.
“Todos los ojos del viento
ya me lloraron por muerta.”
Do you think ghosts can ask for asylum in Cuba?
Willie, take my clothes off, look at my scars
without crying, and tell me I’m beautiful. Don’t lie.
wanting to drink a cup of coffee with you
reading me Ginsberg, Cimic, and Julia
tuyo para siempre my rey