or stem, or maybethe root.
I’m learning how to caress
and breathe at the same time.
How to be silent
and feel something grow
inside me.
And when it all builds up,
I sink into my mattress.
I feel such a release. Such a relief.
I feel such a shame
settle like a blanket
covering me head to toe.
To make myself feel this way
is a dirty thing, right?
Then why does it feel so good?
Tuesday, October 16
Talking Church
“So you go to church a lot, right?”
Aman asks as we walk to the train.
And any words I have
suicide-jump off my tongue.
Because this is it.
Either he’s going to think
I’m a freak of the church
who’s too holy to do anything,
or he’s going to think I’m
a church freak trying to get it on
with the first boy who tries.
“X?”
And I try to focus on that,
how much I love this new nickname.
How it’s such a small letter
but still fits all of me.
“Xiomara?”
I finally turn to look at him.
“Yeah. My moms is big into church
and I go with her and to confirmation classes.”
“So your moms is big into the church,
but you, what are you big into?”
And I let loose the breath that I was holding.
And before I know I’m going to say them
the words have already escaped my mouth.
“You already know I’m into poetry.”
And he nods. Looks at me and seems to decide something.
“So what’s your stage name, Xiomara?”
And I’m so glad he’s changed the subject.
That I answer before I think:
“I’m just a writer . . . but maybe I’d be the Poet X.”
He smiles. “I think that fits you perfectly.”
Swoon
In science we learned
that thermal conductivity
is how heat flows through
some materials better than others.
But who knew words,
when said by the right person,
by a boy who raises your temperature,
move heat like nothing else?
Shoot a shock of warmth
from your curls to your toes?
Telephone
Twin doesn’t ask who I’m texting
so late into the night that the glow
of my phone is the only light
in the whole apartment.
And I don’t offer to tell him
or to hide my texting
beneath my blanket.
I’ve never been superfriendly,
and Caridad is the only person
we really talk to, unless I’m working
on a class project or something.
But now I have Aman,
sweet and patient Aman,
who sends me Drake lyrics
that he says remind him of me
and asks me to whisper him poems in return.
Who never grows tired of my writing
and always asks for one more.
Twin doesn’t ask who I’m texting.
Though I know he’s wondering
because I’m wondering who he’s been texting, too.
The reason why he’s smiling more now.
And giggles in the dark,
the glow of his phone letting me know
we both have secrets to keep.
Over Breakfast
Twin is singing underneath his breath
as he pours milk into his cereal.
I watch him as I sip on a cup of coffee.
He slices up an apple and gives me half.
He knows they’re my favorite,
but I’m surprised he’s being so thoughtful.
“Twin, you been smiling more lately.
This person got a name?”
And my words make the smile
slip and slide right off his face.
He shakes his head at me,
pushes his cereal away.
He plays with the tablecloth.
“Is that why you been smiling so much?”
And to cover my blush,
I gulp down the last of my coffee.
“I’m just happy; you know what we should plan?
Our scary movie date for Halloween. You and me.”
And we both say at the same time:
“And Caridad.”
Angry Cat, Happy X
C: Girl, this angry cat meme reminded me of you.
X: Smh. Ur dumb. I was just about to text you.
Scary movie Halloween date?
C: Duh! How you doing? How’s that boy you feeling?
X: I’m good . . . He’s fine.
C: Why “. . .”?
X: I know you don’t approve.
C: Xio, I just don’t want you getting in trouble.
But I like seeing you happy . . . Like this happy cat meme!
Friday, October 19
About Being in Like
The smoke park is empty again.
And I’m so glad we finally
have another half day.
The afternoon stretches before us.
No Mami to call me. She’s still at work.
Twin’s genius school runs on a different schedule.
Caridad never texts during class.
It’s just me and Aman
and his hand brushing my cheek
to insert an earbud.
“You ever smoked a blunt?”
I shake my head.
“Word. Drake is better when you lit.
But we can listen to him anyways.”
And so I shut my eyes,
pressing my shoulder closer to his
as he settles his iPhone between us,
as he settles his hand on my thigh.
Music
for A
Placing my head in the crook of your neck
makes me happyto be alive.
Eyes closedhands clasped.
Don’t breatheand maybe
we will livelike this forever.
It be gibberishbut everything
you whispersounds like poetry.
Imissedyou.
This was supposed to be a question.
Not a poemconfessionor whatever it’s become.
I just wanted to know ifyou would listen
with meto the soundof our heartbeats.
Tuesday, October 23
Ring the Alarm
The day that becomes THE DAY
starts real regular. Same schedule,
and nothing changed ’til last-period bio.
It’s the first Tuesday
since “the Eve episode”
and with thirty minutes left of school
a fire alarm goes off.
Mr. Bildner sighs and stops the PowerPoint
that was showing us how Darwin
figured out finches.
Aman squeezes my hand beneath the desk
and stands. Slings his bag across his shoulders
(he never puts it in his locker).
Before I know what I’m saying
the words skip like small rocks out my mouth:
“We should go to the park.”
They sink in silence. He cocks his head.
“You know Bildner’s going to take attendance
if this is a false alarm?”
The class lines up to exit