new poem : bocaditos (at the lips)

I take sleep like a piece of cake,
with milk, with longing

but fat tuesday is gone and now begins the lean time –
my body has decided to give up those sweet minutes

happiness seems like everyone else’s
but suffering is unique for each of us, no?

4 a.m. and, for all the santero’s smoke and blessings,
I find your pet, indecision, has moved into the living room,
takes up the couch, bumping the arms of visitors, asking about the cloudy air

I misread you – is that why I search for you so much?
You, sleepy and sick, each day carved neatly for you.

no prayer will bring you to me.
no promise enough but still I try:

I promise I will learn more about you if you sleep next to me
I promise to be good

I promise to cook happiness into the home,
mix raisins into the picadillo - fried crisp
handed warm in a cotton hand towel

watch out
the first bite always releases steam