I made this poem braver than my mother.
I severed my hands.
Now I write with the roaches that leave my mouth whenever I turn a man on like a light.
If ever you wanted to know my damagevisit a church, kiss a crucifix, love a dead thing and call it prayer.
If ever you wanted to know how I heal, drink the dusk.Burn a ritual on your tongue. Bleed into a lover.
Leave your shadow everywhereyou think the light could find it.
One day mami started acting all funny right and she made me hallucinate with her and I could see the last time my father was a summer in bushwick and mami hated that every girl was an open fire hydrant for him and she never got to be the good guy, always had to be the fire and one day she decided if ever she got be water she would be a flood.
I allow nothing inside of the eulogy.