Cuerpo Sounds a Lot Like Corpse
“mami…tu cuerpo”/ the first time he said “mami”/ still rings in my ear/ like a hiss with a rhythm that found itself through all the corners of my apartment/ snaked itself around my wrists/ held me down, made me think I was something worth holding in general/ made me shed my own skin/ welcome my own body/ the first time I pronounced my womanly presence to covered ears, musty curtains replied/ said I was a still life/ too much flesh ready to rot, too much wanting water begging to break, too much of everything my women wanted me to be hanging from my neck/ biologically a hickey is a bruise and everything holy was just a figment of their imagination/ they called him the devil, as if I wasn’t a body ready to drop/ begging to bruise/ I sang … and I realized my body translated to a lifeless thing/ what lesson lies for the fruit and the snake/ when temptation falls for temptation
Hotel signs, motel signs
Consumerism pretending to want your company
Graceful flamingos fly across
The sorbet sky
Clear blue waters, kissing
The land lazily
Neon lights and suffocating air conditioning
A nonchalant precarious charade, somehow truthful and heartfelt
This is my home.
We’re causal in our mania and controversies
Sexy little ironies
We love like this city won’t be here tomorrow, even though we know it certainly will be.
The Black Guanábana
the black guanábana lying cooly on the door of my fridge. honey, plucked too soon. an I love you, hanging like a sweet temptation, from a wry half afraid smile.
promise, dropped before the rusk was done blushing at the sun. I break it open, cut it into slices. feel it’s rough mounds touch my palms as if to say, this is what we must become accustomed to now. pull apart the pale envelopes of flesh, birthing black seeds that sing their own tunes as they slip out onto the porcelain. bite into what doesn’t want to give, didn’t want to stay. turn over lessons with my tongue that my body will not swallow and muse over tomorrow. free the fruit that did not have enough chance, to give enough baring, for the life we both craved.
tend to farewells and apologies
as we wait for next year’s harvest.
watch forgiveness grow. watch
yourselves grow with it.
Poems by Carina Maceira
Artwork by Catherine Villalonga