pa' mi luna (la que sabe)

There is no "oye" to begin this letter of parted sorries
and tear stained cheeks--
if they came in color
mine would mark me up more than race
and the bliss we theorize as latinidad
and the policy scripts we play from and
jump off of just to get paid
maybe laid
by the men
that get little pieces of what we "spick"
our bodies: a foreign film more often than not

I failed us lunita.
I dared and dreamt too far
Promised, like Austin, that what we spoke would "do"

Ahhh, in all these sorries there has to be a Simone
writing love to her Beaver
A Frida
looking for Diego
in all his demise and her crippledness
A Dali and his Dora or was that Picasso?
How quickly I forget the man's painted obsession
Least I forget Miles and his Betty Davis
Not the white one...of course

There isn't a ritual large enough,
bold enough
to gather these sorries

You see lunita,
some of us are meant to fail in love
for always
and in moment after moment
this is how we learn the lyrics to the foreign films we spill
Did you think this script was given in womb?