The Thief

Maybe the king should pay the thief
to test his palace guards.
If he is caught, the guards get paid and slapped on the back
When he prevails, leans against the wall and tosses his trophy up,
smirk on his face glinting like the gold in his hand,
they'll slap their faces to their palm and mutter,
"Goddammit, you motherfucker, you just had to be the sneakiest thief in the land"
and he just laughs, and nods
and tells them he'll steal the panties off their girlfriend's bottoms just for fun
if they don't watch out, he'll steal more than that
hoots and jeers and curses,
he just laughs, and steals again

Neighbors

I built a city.
I put it between the seaside and a mountain--
tucked it in the crook of the earth's arm.

Here there are more bookstores than movie theatres,
And the televisions only get the news and the History Channel,
Logo and SciFi.
It's a big city, my city, with lots of people--
and maybe you know your neighbors,
Maybe not.

In the winter there's gift-giving, city-wide,
and in the spring comes the carnival.
In the fall we celebrate the return to knowledge,
our reunion with education.
In the summer there's a festival,
red lanterns lighting a shimmering dusk
and the stars descending at night.

Museums have free admission every Sunday,
and musicians play in crowded restaurants
with laughter floating 'round their notes.

And in the middle of it all,
in my city like a country,
I have a small apartment
where I live with all my books.
In the winter I have Christmas parties,
and in the spring we fall in love.
In the fall I dust my books off,
and in the summer we come alive.

Minority Majority (Duplicity)

I look at the white man that is my father
and the Mexican that is my mother
and I am proud of who I am genetically, foundationally
but I don't know what that is
because it's all abstract, everything's so abstract
and where I live people talk down to the Mexicans
they're Mexican'ts
they're idiots, people who don't speak English and therefore are less than me and less than you
because knowing English makes me better,
knowing English makes me smarter.
even my best friend
she looks at me and laughs and says
this is America, we speak English here
and I am incredulous
because
this was our land before your people took it from us
this was our language before your people cut out our tongues
this was our home before your people uprooted us, murdered us
this was our salvation before your people killed our gods and made us Christian
this was our safety and security, our holy land, before it became the place we were not safe,
nowhere was safe

and I'm afraid, because her blood runs through me
I am Mexican and I am white,
I am European and I am brown,
I am both the murdered and the murderer,
the victim and the perpetrator,
the virgin and the rapist,
How can I blame her for her ancestor's mistakes without also blaming myself?

She loves America, see,
but I can't love what I don't understand.
I cannot love what I do not agree with.
I cannot love that which wrongs my people.

I am a child of mistaken love, of youthful whimsy
I am a child of children, of two teenagers who fell into bed together and came out with a baby blossomed in their arms, a burden strapped to their back
my father's parents didn't like my mother, you know
because she is brown, because she is a Mexican
and my father's brother was even worse
because she is a woman
he sought to break her down and bring her apart
he could not stand the sight of a strong woman
with a strong heart
when his was not

that's all I saw
from what I know of family
sometimes I cannot accept that I am white
the male superiority that white people are born with
I can't connect myself with that
but then again I don't know Spanish
I can't understand these words like water flowing out of mouths
rich and fast and blurred, and I don't know
caught between these two extremes
neither here nor there,
the looking glass broke while I was on my way through and here I am,
a reflection of myself, cracked and broken, not complete
I am not whole by myself
I don't know my racial identity
I cannot connect with these opposites

It's like I can't be white as a person of Mexican descent,
I can't be Mexican unless I know Spanish.
I can't love men as a feminist, I can't love women without being a lesbian.
I can't admire both love and war, peace and destruction,
I cannot breathe both smoke and air.
When did the world become so black and white?
Where do the rest of us go, who are neither black nor white?
I am brown, and this is what I am--
I am Mexican American and this is what I am,
I am a woman and this is what I am,
I love men and I love women and this is what I am,
but these are not who I am, and these things do not define me.

Little Girl

with dirt in hair
and mouth
and teeth
with stars in eyes
and skin
and mind

Sex(y)

I never knew what sexy meant before (you)
When you got all sexy and smooth,
And aware of yourself,
That's when you were the best.
Those moments were so rare, dear; but why?
You're sexy every moment, yeah?
Don't you know it?
Without even trying: the natural curve of your lips
Around my name
Around a smile
Around your perfect teeth and silken tongue.

(It's been so long since I've seen you, or felt you
Even longer since I wrote you.)

Be sexy, and know it--
You already are; you could conquer the world with your delicate fingers,
With your ivory bones and your ebony nails--

Be sexy and own it. You could be (so) unstoppable.

More Like A Boy

He likes to think he's cinematic;
dramatic but not problematic,
Ecstatic in the coolest way there is.
He likes to think his fingers walk
and his guitar strings like to talk
and his eyes say all his things when his thoughts his strings can't phrase.

With a flourish and a blot
he's got all you've ever thought
laid out in front of him: a master of your mind,
a general mastermind. And with his ups and downs and turns
he doesn't feel society's burns;
no, he's too cool to let that fire eat his skin.

He's got this deep mind, see?
He can dig you and all you know
but when the time comes to let go
and reverse the show, he can't deliver.
He's got these private issues
but he doesn't need your tissues
he's a tough guy; he can make it all alone.

It's only when you split his head
and analyze him, synthesize him,
It's only then you realize he's mostly dead.
From lack of acting, lack of loving, lack of seeing, lack of being;
When his eyes shut and he dreams,
that's the most he's ever lived.

Turn him inside out, and you'll see.
Part of everyone he's ever been, these characters he's collected,
these minds that he's dissected
these thoughts that he's connected
they're all for show, and for what?
He's a virgin, pure at heart
Can't find his way to the dark
Doesn't know where start; wouldn't know if it struck him like a dart.

Falling apart of his own volition,
harboring secret ambition to become a man on a mission
for love, for love.
But love is cruel and love is blind, and love rarely takes the time
to judge a victim on his worthiness or worthlessness or what.

And doesn't that seem strange?
The anticipation we contain
to become the most deserving of this fate,
of a hot date;
and when we find ourselves alone it's no one's fault but our own.
Even when it's all out of our hands.

A Woman's Prayers

I
Glory be to the Mother, and to the Daughter, and to the Holy Sister.

As it was in the beginning, as it is now, so it shall be forever and ever, world without end. Holy Mother, amen.

II
Our Mother who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Queendom come, thy Will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily joy and eradicate our ignorance as we eradicate the ignorance against us. Lead us into female salvation and deliver us from evil. Holy Mother, amen.

III
Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lady is with thee.

Blessed art thou among Women, and blessed are the workings of your womb.

Holy Mary, Mother of Life, pray for us women now and forevermore. Amen.