Calendar in the Season of the Pandemic

the ants have

deserted

my shower

for the garden

at long last

spring

In Case of Emergency

Contact nearest

cloud. Begin by

calling Milky Way.

Summon:

pepper tree,

maguey,

donkey shit,

jacaranda shower,

river,

caliche,

scorpion,

hummingbird,

or pearl.

Will vouch

we are

kin.

Instructions for My Funeral

For good measure,

smoke me with copal.

Shroud me in my raggedy rebozo.

No jewelry. Give to friends.

No coffin. Instead, petate.

Ignite to “Disco Inferno.”

Allow no Christian rituals

for this bitch, but, if

you like, you may invite

a homeless dog to sing,

or a witch woman to spit

orange water and chant

an Otomí prayer.

Send no ashes north

of the Río Bravo

on penalty of curse.

I belong here,

under Mexican maguey,

beneath a carved mesquite

bench that says Ni Modo.

Smoke a Havana.

Music, Fellini-esque.

Above all,

laugh.

And don’t

forget.

Spell

my name

with mezcal.

Skip Notes

*With acknowledgment to Javier Zamora and his poem of the same title, though we each wrote our poems at about the same time, perhaps at the same moment, without having read one another’s. Saint Coincidence, as Joy Harjo would say.

It Occurs to Me I Am the Creative/ Destructive Goddess Coatlicue

I deserve stones.

Better leave me the hell alone.

I am besieged.

I cannot feed you.

You may not souvenir my bones,

knock on my door, camp, come in,

telephone, take my polaroid. I’m paranoid,

I tell you. Lárguense. Scram.

Go home.

I am anomaly. Rare she who

can’t stand kids and can’t stand you.

No excellent Cordelia cordiality have I.

No coffee served in tidy cups.

No groceries in the house.

I sleep to excess,

smoke cigars,

drink. Am at my best

wandering undressed,

my fingernails dirty,

my hair a mess.

Terribly

sorry, Madame isn’t

feeling well today.

Must

Greta Garbo.

Pull an Emily:

“The soul selects her own society…”

Roil like Rhys’s Sargasso Sea.

Abiquiu à la O’Keeffe.

Throw a Maria Callas.

Shut myself like a shoe.

Christ

almighty. Stand

back. Warning.

Honey,

this means

you.

Cielo
sin
sombrero

Cielo con sombrero

El cielo amaneció

con su propio sombrero

hecho de lana

sucia de borrego.

Un sombrero tan ancho

que deja la tierra con sombras

teñida de añil y lavanda.

Como el mar

visto desde una isla

de cara a tierra firme.

Como los trastes de peltre

de los campesinos

que comen sin cuchara.

Sky Wearing a Hat

Sky arose

with a hat all its own

made from dirty

sheep-wool.

A hat wide

enough to dye the earth

indigo and lavender with shade.

Like sea

seen from an island

facing land.

Like the pewter dishes

of country folk

who eat without spoons.

Jarcería Shop

A breakfast tray please. For my terrace.

In the morning I invite the bees

To raisin bread with lavender honey.

Don’t worry, there’s always

Enough for everybody.