TO THE LOVER
Who was never truly a lover
just a rotting corpse
A pile of hollowed-out bones
looking for a place to lay
wounds of war
and unspoken desires
You
made a coffin out of my body
and buried yourself in my hips
You
slipped in through my teeth
not knowing
that I have swallowed men whole
not knowing
that I carved out the depths of myself
to make room for you
I chose you
because only a dead man
would want to sleep
in an empty wet hole
Dear lover
I am sorry if I never told you
that I’ve been a graveyard
longer than I’ve been a woman
So rest easy now
you can lay your death
Inside of me
I promise
that your grave will have a name
that the soil from my body
will absorb the nutrients from your flesh
and sprout wildflowers between my legs
I promise
that I will take the emptiness I birthed
after four years of never making love
and I will carve it into your headstone.
________________________________________
THE OCEAN
feels like the salt crusting on my brow,
like the wind dancing with my hair
on a Sunday afternoon
después de la Misa
for those that don’t pray
but still believe in god.
It tastes like–
espagueti con pan.
And if I was lucky,
un pecao frito de Maimon.
Like the sour grapes
from the trees that lined the beach,
like the saltwater
washing away the sand on my feet.
When I was a kid
I used to look out at the ocean and think–
this is all there is between you and me,
water
As deep as the hole in my chest
that never goes away
and I don’t remember exactly
how it got there,
the ocean
is warm and clear
—tonight
It feels like rays of moonlight
tickling your skin,
like the rattle of cicadas
echoing through the wind
with Oscar de Leon
blasting in the distance,
“Lloraras y lloraras sin nadie que te consuele.
Asi te daras cuenta que si te engañan duele”
[Clap]
For a moment
you are here, now
in the present.
Remember
that you don’t belong
to any one nation.
Remember
that your bloodline
was born of the sea fearing
That your ancestors
have loved across oceans
for centuries.
Remember
that hyphens are made of water
And that you are too
Yenifer Maria Mezquita was born in Santiago, Dominican Republic, and lived in Altamira, Puerto Plata, until age 8. She moved to the Bronx, New York, in the summer of 2001 and grew up ‘en el ba y ven,’ often spending summers with her grandparents back in the Dominican Republic. She attended Amherst College in Western Massachusetts and now lives in the DC area, where she works for a national non-profit. A life-long self-described “closeted poet” and storyteller, she has been dreaming up words and worlds for as long as she can remember. She loves Miyazaki films, downpours, cats and looking up at the sky.
