Sara Borjas – My Heart

Sara Borjas

My Heart

            after Frank O’Hara

I’m not going to smile all the time
nor shall I cry carrying myself to sleep,
I don’t recommend one rush over another.
I’d crawl up the peak of my murmur & melody, 
become an invulnerable bridge, but also the battle
that is overproduced on either side. I want to die
at least as dramatically as my anger. And if 
some expert on my mayhem announces “That’s
not like Sara!,” fuck all knowledge. I 
don’t wear my leopard print to the conferences
all the time, do I? I want my hands free,
I want my feet transcendent, and my heart—
you can’t calculate the heart, but
the mysterious part of it, my love, is precise.

Juan Luis Guzmán – BREAKUP SONNET iii.

Author’s note:
From a series of 
BREAKUP SONNETS
                    In using this form, I looked to challenge it and to intentionally queer it in content,
                    grammar, language, and with the assistance of predictive text from my iPhone. 

Juan Luis Guzmán

iii.

At the author’s request, this poem has been temporarily removed. It may return to the site in the future.

Sarah A. Chavez – Because There is Shadow, I Know There is Light

Sarah A. Chavez

Because There is Shadow, I Know There is Light

I am envious of my younger self 
for whom death turned our face 
toward the light of poetry. Older 

me, me of now: death is the shadow 
cast from the hulk of an impossibly 
wide trunk, bark: thick scales and time 

hardened; branch: crinkle-crackle 
misdirection. Poetry seems just 

out of arm’s length, a bird in flight 
I am too heavy to follow. 

Solace instead, a blank stare: out 
a window, against a wall—looking 
into nothing. Death nothing, nothing 

but death; it will ravage us all
is no longer a phrase people just say.
The priest at the pulpit says 

that eternity is love for those who die 
in remorse—I am sorry for so much. 

Sara Borjas – A woman walks by with a baguette on her shoulder

Sara Borjas

A woman walks by with a baguette on her shoulder

A woman walks by with a baguette on her shoulder.
Am I going to write, after that, about domestic pressures?

Another sits in front of the ATM, kills a cockroach, laughs at nothing.
How dare one speak about access to opportunity & the American dream?

Another has entered my hand, with a hot pot of soup.
To speak them, about the meaning of LatinX, to the Chair of the Department?

An amputee walks by holding a black leash attached to a beautiful dog.
Afterwards, I stay quiet while someone declares beauty is in the eye of the beholder?

Another shakes, chokes, folds over on the sidewalk.
Will it ever be possible to be just one person?

Another searches the trash can for plastic, aluminum
How to write, after that, about the possibility of protection by police?

A busboy slips in the kitchen, cracks his spine, no longer kisses anything.
To explain then, to people, about privilege?

A publisher prints another book about white experience.
With what face to teach at the state college?

A homeless woman lies amongst others, with her eyes open under an overpass.
To speak, after that, about the courage of political murals?

A woman goes to a funeral, sobbing.
How then, to apply for tenure at the university?

Someone carries a gun into the room.
How dare we compare nuclear fusion to love?

A white colleague says they hope things change and then gives up absolutely nothing.
How to hear another one of them cry in their email without screaming?

Juan Luis Guzmán – BREAKUP SONNET ii.

Author’s note:
From a series of 
BREAKUP SONNETS
                    In using this form, I looked to challenge it and to intentionally queer it in content,
                    grammar, language, and with the assistance of predictive text from my iPhone. 

Juan Luis Guzmán

ii.

At the author’s request, this poem has been temporarily removed. It may return to the site in the future.