Tiny Dreams for When The City Gets Too Big #1
Lake Michigan waves come so inland we’re up to our knees in it. Espuma. Luna. Emotionally
disarmed on a bus stop where mom lectures me about carrying hand sanitizer. We are standing
when we’d rather be sitting. We could be dancing. I resign to truth,
I might just write poems on my palms forever.
Mom spits out her dragon fruit vitamin water into my cupped hands. And just like that, a poem.
Mom tells me to eat air. I go home.
Mom mails me a crescent moon I can hammock swing on top of so all the bed bugs in my
one-bedroom have ample room to frolic.
All the empty in the floor plan gets covered up.
You ever have rent due even in your dreams?
Tiny Dreams for When The City Gets Too Big #44
Mom told me to wash my dishes when I’m stressed. She must be to blame then for my big ass
raisin hands. I throw them in arroz con leche and send her a pic of it. Add a little more cinnamon
for presentation.
OMG they look delicious heart eyes heart eyes tongue out winky face.
Tiny Dreams for When The City Gets Too Big #708
My body is a map of Chicago bus routes. To get anywhere people have to touch me like we’re all
in an elaborate game of tag and I’m base. I hand out face masks like flowers. I know every time
my sisters come home. They sit at the foot of their bed waiting for Mom to fall asleep.
You ever find a ghost where a poem should be?
Tiny Dreams for When The City Gets Too Big #1202
I am a doll so I can finally pop my head off and place it on the seat next to me.
The bus driver tells us the world is ending. They also tell me I’m only a side character
so I can relax. Ease into it. What a relief.
7 longhorn owls slice through a sky leaving red wounds. 7 trumpets break into a myriad of jazz.
Of course, there’s 7 accordions. Of course, I can smell the carne asada around the block.
I try to get you on the phone. It goes like,
Describe your sky.
xxxxxxEarth has never been more honest.
You think we can revise our last words.
xxxxxxSure.
The call cuts out eventually.
I stumble down a desire line,
grab a fist full of daffodils
to offer our dead. Pick up records
people left behind. Memorize lines
to poems I wrote for you.
You think we can dance to poems in heaven?