The Poet X(11)

This doesn’t count as a date.

Or even anything sinful.

Just two classmates

meeting up after school

to listen to music.

So I try not to freak out

when Aman agrees

to our non-date.





Mami’s Dating Rules


Rule 1. I can’t date.

Rule 2. At least until I’m married.

Rule 3. See rules 1 and 2.





Clarification on Dating Rules


The thing is,

my old-school

Dominican parents

Do. Not. Play.

Well, mostly Mami.

I’m not sure Papi

has any strong opinions, or at least none he’s ever said.

But Mami’s been telling me early as I can remember I can’t have a boyfriend until I’m done with college.

And even then,

she got strict rules on what kind of boy he better be.

And Mami’s words

have always been scripture set in stone.

So I already know

going to a park alone with Aman

might as well be

the eighth deadly sin.

But I can’t wait

to do it anyway.





Friday, September 21





Feeling Myself


All last night, I held the secret of meeting Aman like a candle that could too easily be blown out.

Any time Mami said my name, or Twin looked in my direction, I waited for them to ask what I was hiding.

This morning, I iron my shirt. A for-sure sign I’m scheming since I hate to iron.

But no one says anything about the shirt, or my new shea butter–scented lip balm.

And when I slide my jeans up my hips and shimmy into them my legs feel powerful beneath my hands

and I smile over my shoulder at my bubble butt in the mirror.





Part II


And the Word


Was Made Flesh





Smoke Parks


Because I wouldn’t go to his house (not that he asked me to!),

we both know that our secret friendship can take place only in public.

Every Friday our school has a half day for professional development, and today Aman and I shuffle to the smoke park nearby.

I’ve never smoked weed,

but I think Aman does sometimes after school; I smell it on his sweater, and know the crowd he chills with.

But today the park is ours

and we sit on a bench with more than our forearms “accidentally” rubbing.

His fingers brush against my face as he places one of his earbuds in for me.

I can smell his cologne

and I want to lean in but I’m

afraid he’ll notice I’m sniffing him.

For a moment, the only thing I can hear is my own heart loudly pumping in my ears.

I close my eyes and let myself find in music what I’ve always searched for: a way away.

After an hour, when the album clicks off and Aman tugs on my hand to pull me up from the bench I hold on. Link my fingers with his for just a moment.

And walk to the train feeling truly thankful that this city has so many people to hide me.





I Decided a Long Time Ago


Twin is the only boy I will ever love.

I don’t want a converted man-whore like my father so the whole block talks about my family and me.

I don’t want a pretty boy,

or a superstar athlete, more in love with himself than anyone else.

I wouldn’t even date a boy like Twin, thinking people are inherently good, always seeing the best in them.

But I have to love Twin.

Not just because we’re blood, but because he’s the best boy I know.

He is also the worst twin in the world.





Why Twin Is a Terrible Twin


He looks nothing like me.

He’s small. Scrawny.

Straight-up scarecrow skinny.

(I must have bullied him in Mami’s belly because it’s clear I stole all the nutrients.) He wears glasses because he’s afraid of poking an eye out by using contacts.

He doesn’t even try to look cool, or match.

He is, in fact, the worst Dominican: doesn’t dance, his eyebrows connect slightly, he rarely gets a shape-up, and he’d rather read than watch baseball. And he hates to fight.

Didn’t even wrestle with me when we were little.

I’ve gotten into too many shove matches trying to make sure Twin walked away with his anime collection.

My brother ain’t no stereotype, that’s for sure.





Why Twin Is a Terrible Twin, for Real


Twin is a genius.

Full sentences at eight months old, straight As since pre-K,

science experiments and scholarships to space camp since fifth.

This also means we haven’t been in the same grade since we were really little, and then he got into a specialized high school, so his book smarts meant

I couldn’t even copy his homework.

He is an award-winning bound book, where I am loose and blank pages.

And since he came first, it’s his fault.

And I’m sticking to that.