tremendo lío
for J.M.
contigo yo me quemare
contigo yo no morire
porque contigo yo renacere
— Sergent Garcia
on my hands and knees beneath the table
my purse has fallen off the boxes and lost itself
at the edge of the table skirt.
easier to have gone around, I could say
but, two cuba libres have me thinking
less people will see me
this way
and I do need my purse
my lips are dry
the man sitting across the room
has taken my lipstick off with his watching
it occurs to me:
I am not called for
my hips carry no one’s scent
there are no ties here
back to sitting at the table,
I try to compose myself,
smooth down the wrinkle in my skin
that holds my shoulders in
I rub my belly to relax,
open a pamphlet, straighten brochures,
put more gloss on,
and sip this drink that already loves me
what am I waiting for?
my earlier incarnations would have had me walk over
demand some words to go with the turn of his chin,
some conversation to soften the way his eyes move around me
if life were this dream…
I would be there already
warning him:
a step from me
a half circle in my hip
can set this place going, papí
and you are so close
the tangling fire will hold you
¿así lo quieres?
I don’t have time for obligation tonight
in walking over, you begin the dare
vacila’o, you almost mouth
give one step forward,
catch the flesh in your liberating gaze
and pull it in with another step
deep breathing, your beard alone says throw down
gone are those roses I held in my ribs,
the reminders of those who would keep me
push at my lungs
gone that desperation to breath
through the pain of growing fractures
within my ribs
suffocation of duty
– that ceramic heart –
left to me
all gone
unwound
prepárate
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