The Poet X(26)

I’m sorry I have to be here.

That I have to pretend to you and her that I care about confirmation at all.

But I’m not sorry I kissed a boy.

I’m only sorry I was caught.

Or that I had to hide it at all.”





Father Sean Says,


“Our God is a forgiving God.

Even when we do things we shouldn’t

our God understands the weakness of the flesh.

But forgiveness is only granted

if the person is actually remorseful.

I think this goes much deeper

than kissing a boy on the train.”





Prayers


Father Sean is Jamaican.

His Spanish has a funky accent and when he gives the gospel for the Latino Mass half of the words be sounding made up.

It makes the younger kids laugh; it makes our older folks smile.

His Spanish, when he talks to my mother, does neither. His hazel eyes are sure and gentle when he looks at Mami and tells her:

“Altagracia, I don’t think Xiomara is quite ready to be confirmed.

I think she has some questions we should let her answer first.”

He explains it’s not what I confessed.

But several questions I’ve asked and comments I’ve made

make him think I should keep

coming to classes

but not take the leap of confirmation this year.

My mother’s face scrunches tight like someone has vacuumed all her joy.

I avoid her eyes

but something must flash in them because Father Sean raises a hand.

“Altagracia, please be calm.

Remember anger is as much a sin as any Xiomara may have committed.

We all need time to come to terms with certain things, don’t we?”

And I don’t know

if Father Sean just granted me a blessing or nailed my coffin shut.





How I Can Tell


I can tell when Mami is really angry because her Spanish becomes faster than usual.

The words bumping into one another like go-karts.

“Mira, muchacha . . . You will not embarrass me in church again.

From now on, you’re going to fix yourself.

Do you hear me, Xiomara?

No te lo voy a decir otra vez.”

(But I know she will in fact tell me again. And again.) “There are going to be some big changes.”





Before We Walk in the House


“You cannot turn your back on God.

I was on my journey to the convent, prepared to be his bride,

when I married your father.

I think it was punishment.

God allowed me America

but shackled me with a man addicted to women.

It was punishment,

to withhold children from me for so long until I questioned if anyone in this world would ever love me.

But even business deals are promises.

And we still married in a church.

And so I never walked away from him although I tried my best to get back to my first love.

And confirmation is the last step I can give you.

But the child sins just like the parent.

Because look at you, choosing this over the sacred.

I don’t know if you’re more like your father or more like me.”





My Heart Is a Hand


That tightens

into a fist.

It is a shrinking thing,

like a raisin,

like a too-tight tee,

like fingers that curl

but have no other hand

to hold them

so they just end up

biting into themselves.





Wednesday, November 14





A Poem Mami Will Never Read


Mi boca no puede escribir una bandera blanca, nunca será un verso de la Biblia.

Mi boca no puede formarse el lamento que tú dices tú y Dios merecen.

Tú dices que todo esto

es culpa de mi boca.

Porque tenía hambre,

porque era callada.

pero ?y la boca tuya?

Cómo tus labios son grapas

que me perforan rápido y fuerte.

Y las palabras que nunca dije quedan mejor muertas en mi lengua porque solamente hubieran chocado contra la puerta cerrada de tu espalda.

Tu silencio amuebla una casa oscura.

Pero aun a riesgo de quemarse, la mariposa nocturna siempre busca la luz.





In Translation


My mouth cannot write you a white flag, it will never be a Bible verse.

My mouth cannot be shaped into the apology you say both you and God deserve.

And you want to make it seem

it’s my mouth’s entire fault.

Because it was hungry,

and silent, but what about your mouth?

How your lips are staples

that pierce me quick and hard.

And the words I never say

are better left on my tongue since they would only have slammed against the closed door of your back.

Your silence furnishes a dark house.

But even at the risk of burning, the moth always seeks the light.





Heartbreak


I never meant to hurt anyone.