The Poet X(20)

Tomorrow is going to be a long-ass day.

But here and now, it’s okay.





Monday, October 29





Fights


On Monday afternoon,

I lean against the gate of Twin’s genius school.

When Aman asked why I was taking a train downtown I kissed it off, but I’m sure he’ll bring it up later.

So much happened this weekend,

but still I prepared myself for what I knew I would have to do this afternoon.

Twin gets out an hour later than I do, and as the kids start filing out after the bell I spot Twin shuffling my way, but he’s not alone.

He’s with a tall, red-haired boy, with fingers the color of milk

that brush lint off my brother’s sweater softly the way Aman sometimes squeezes my hand.

Xavier.

Twin’s name never leaves my lips but somehow he hears me think it.

His head pops in my direction

like a bobble-head doll.

He stumbles back from the white boy so fast

he almost trips on his shoes.

I look between them, confirming what I’ve always known.

Twin rushes my way and speaks into my ear.

“Xiomara, what are you doing here?”

And I don’t need to tell him

I came to knock my knuckles into someone’s face.

To redeem his black eye.

To let them know Twin isn’t alone.

“You shouldn’t have come to my school.

I don’t need you to fight for me anymore.”

There is a balloon where my heart used to be and it whooshes air out at the prick of his words.

I look at the boy who gazes at Twin with love all over his face.

“Leave it alone, Xiomara,”

I think Twin says. But it sounds more like: “Leave me alone.”





Scrapping


I’m not stupid, you know.

I know I’m not gonna be thirty fighting grown-ass men.

I know I’m not always going to be bigger and meaner than the boys in my grade. I know one day,

they’ll be stronger and hit back harder.

I know I won’t always intimidate girls with my height, with my hard hands.

I know I won’t be able to defend Twin forever. But I thought when it happened it would be because he would fight for himself, not just find someone else to protect him.





What We Don’t Say


On the train ride home

Twin steps into his feelings

like they’re a gated-off room

I don’t have visitation rights to.

He spends the entire time

playing chess on his phone.

“Twin. I know you’ve probably felt this way your whole entire life but

if Mami and Papi find out about White Boy they will legit kill you.”

His fingers move a rook across the screen, attacking some imaginary opponent.

“Cody. Not White Boy.

And I know what Mami and Papi will say.

What you’re going to say, too.”

But I don’t even know what I’m going to say.

I only know I’ve always wanted to keep him safe, but this makes him a target

and I can’t defend against the arrows I know are coming.





Gay


I’ve always known.

Without knowing.

That Twin was.

We never said.

I think he was scared.

I think I was, too.

He’s Mami’s miracle.

He would become her sin.

I guess I hoped.

If I didn’t ever really know.

It would be like he wasn’t.

But maybe my silence.

Just made him feel more alone.

Maybe my silence.

Condones the ugly things people think.

All that I know.

Is that I don’t know

how to move forward from this.





Feeling Off When Twin Is Mad


A part of myself rebels against the discord.

It might sound dumb, and not all twins are like us, but when he’s angry it throws me off.

I can’t think of anything but him being upset and I’m afraid anything I say will make him angrier.

I don’t even know what I did wrong.

I’ve been fighting dudes for Twin my whole life.

Why did he think I wouldn’t show up at his school?

Not even Aman’s emoji smiley faces

and links to Ja Rule’s old romantic rap videos are enough to make me feel better.





Rough Draft of Assignment 3—Describe someone you consider misunderstood by society.


When I was little

Mami was my hero.

Because she barely spoke English and wasn’t born here, but she didn’t let that stop her from defending herself if she got cut in line at the grocery store, or from fighting to get Twin into a genius school.

Because I’ve never seen her ask my father for money or complain about her job.

Because her hands will be scraped raw from work but she still folds them to pray.

When I was little

Mami was my hero.

But then I grew breasts and although she was always extra hard on me, her attention became something else, like she wanted to turn me into the nun