Clap When You Land(27)

El Cero hesitates for a second & then grasps my arms.

The man looks me up & down, rubbing his chin.

“I have a few questions, mi amor. Come sit in my car with me.”

& all of a sudden I am not sad, or afraid.

I am rage bow-tied as a girl;

I unfurl, full of fury. I am yelling & I could not tell you what.

I wrench away from El Cero & push the man back hard; my quick motion excites Vira Lata, who begins barking, drawing the men’s attention as I sprint away.

Angry tears, the first I’ve shed, stream down my face.

I feel as if I swam too close to a stingray;

my skin vibrates. Electric to the touch.

I turn my back on the beach. I run all the way home.





I rush home only to remember tonight is a ceremonial night.

Tía taught me to dance at the ceremonies.

To the drums of the santero. She taught me a person moves not only with their body but with their spirit.

To the santero’s chanting & the chanting of the others.

I watched Tía spin, the colorful beads

around her neck wet with sweat.

Oh! How her waist bent like a willow tree

during the onslaught of a storm.

I learned how low to the ground my knees could get, how my back could roll & my chest could heave, my wrapped hair was a plush throne

for the spirits to reign from.

Everyone knew this was a house blessed by saints. & although a lot of people don’t fuck with that kind of thing here, they were always asking for Tía’s remedios & jarabes; for advice & prayer; for assistance with birthing their babies when the doctors were too expensive, or when they’d been told, “There’s just nothing else we can do.”

& when Tía hosts a ceremony, the crowd outside is legion.

She has a touch, they say, she has the Saints’ ears.

Tonight the santero comes, & the practitioners do too.

In our small yard out back the drummers form a circle; although we are grieving, the songs spring forth full of light.

There is something holy in the night air.

I push the air with my body as if pushing El Cero & his friends.

I pray myself free of pain as I spin in the circle.

I pray myself free of fear as I throw my arms out wide.

I pray myself free with head tosses, with bracelets jangling, I pray myself free.





Camino Yahaira


Everyone in the house

is feeling some type of way.

& since it’s only me & Mami, what I mean is we are tiptoeing around.

Mami pads through the house

writing checks for bills

I didn’t even know we had.

Mami is spending money

on a promise; she is spending money we don’t even truly have yet.

She ignores work, forgets appointments.

I do not recognize this reckless woman who has taken residence in my mother’s body.

But I also don’t want her to leave a place I know is safe. So I say nothing.

I make her lunch she doesn’t touch, & I climb through the Johnsons’ window when I need to hear noise around me.

If tension is a winged monster, it’s cast its feathers

on the roof of my house.





Twenty-Three Days After


Now that school’s done, I walk the streets without purpose.

I walk far north along Riverside Drive.

Sometimes I walk down to Lincoln Center

so I can sit by the fountain.

I avoid dog shit & the people hanging on their stoops; I ignore ice-cream trucks & hurled catcalls.

I put one foot in front of the other,

& every evening I land at Dre’s front door.

Dr. Johnson has wet hands from washing dishes; she sprays me with water when gesturing me in.

She wraps an arm around my shoulders.

Presses her chin to the top of my head.

I stand there for a second, then step away.

It is nice to be in a home

that feels the same way it did a month ago.

To eat dinner that has no sour reminders.

I let the noises of a whole family lull me into sleep.





Dr. Johnson asks Yaya, honey, have you been sleeping?

I answer

Kinda, Dr. Johnson Dr. Johnson asks

Do you want to talk about it?

I answer

Nah, Dr. Johnson

Dr. Johnson asks

Have you talked to anyone about your grief?

I answer

Thanks for the meat loaf, Dr. Johnson Dr. Johnson asks

Maybe you & your mami?

I answer

Dr. Johnson, I really cannot do this.

Dr. Johnson asks

But couldn’t you all give those meetings another try?

I answer

I think I’ll go home now.





I never had meat loaf until the Johnsons moved next door.

It’s kinda like a pastelón,

& kinda like a meatball on steroids.

At least once a week

I used to eat at the Johnsons’,

even though Mami fussed.

She said the neighborhood would think she wasn’t feeding me.

& I remember thinking Mami was silly until Do?a Gonzales from upstairs