A woman’s apology for

Erosion and weather.

The body offered

Like an altar

Of xempoaxóchitl marigolds.

A poor woman’s offering

Of maize and water.

An offering all the same.

Lullaby

The world

turns

in the same

direction

that I do

as I sleep.

I turn

and help,

in turn,

the planet

turn.

The planet

turns.

And

gently

turns me

in my sleep.

Instructions for Vigiling the Dying

1. Take notes.
2. Cut a lock of hair.

3. Say what you feel and

   say it with conviction.

   Even if she can’t hear.

4. Forgive.

   Especially yourself.

5. Tell her she can go.
6. Give yourself permission to let her go.

7. Give yourself permission to cry.

   If not now, when?

8. Hold her hand.

9. Pay attention to how the face transmogrifies.

   Especially the nose and ears.

10. Imagine you are the moon.

    Bathe yourself with light.

    Bathe the dying.

    Gently. With care.

11. Breathe.
12. Focus on this moment.
13. Grieve.

14. There are no rules.

    Not even these.

Exploding Cigar of Love

TO THE TUNE OF EL “HOKEY POKEY”

You toss your corazón in.

I toss my corazón in.

We toss our corazones together,

And we shake them all about.

We light the love cigar,

And we get a little high.

And that’s what it’s all about.

I write a poem for you.

You write a love poem—for me?

We send a hundred and three emails,

And we shake them all about.

We light the love cigar,

And we get a little high.

And that’s what it’s all about.

You advance un paso.

I retreat pa’trás.

I tacuachito toward you,

And you take a two-step back.

The more I pull, the more you tug.

The more you push, the more I scram.

What are we?

Pepé Le Pew and the cat?

You toss in sub self-esteem.

I toss in emotional hemophilia.

Insecurities, addictions,

And we mix them all about.

We light the love cigar,

And we get a little high.

And that’s what it’s all about.

You text: You’re too much for me, baby.

I text: Well, maybe you’re not enough!

You text: I need to be free.

And I’m shakin’ all about.

We’ve been tripping on the love cigar.

Now sobriety sets in. Bang!

And that’s what it’s all about.

God Breaks the Heart Again and Again Until It Stays Open

AFTER A QUOTE FROM SUFI INAYAT KHAN

But what if my heart is a 7-Eleven after its third daytime robbery in a week?

What if my heart is a piñata trashed to tissue and peppermint shrapnel?

What if my heart is a peeled mango bearing an emerald housefly?

What if my heart is an air conditioner weeping a rosary of rusty tears?

What if my heart is Sebastião Salgado’s sinkhole swallowing another child?

What if my heart is Death Valley in wide-view Cinemascope?

What if my heart is a chupacabrón chanting, “Build the wall!”?