Rock-a-bye, baby
On the treetop
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock

I have been balancing
on a tree branch
this moment
knows all the anxiety that will
follow me down,
when I swear I’ve finally become grounded.

When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall

Grounded.
Grounded.
What is grounded if not having finally found
the bottom of the rabbit hole?
Found the pit, following all those running thoughts.
It is dark in here
no matter your focus
you can’t imagine the light bulb on.
You can only take the paths that you walk upon.
Sometimes it’s too late to change direction.
This is down.

And down will come baby
Cradle and all

Call everything you do protection,
wrap yourself in illusionary shelter
we’ll call it by it’s name
its only a name
let’s not get offended
by numb
sometimes it’s useful
when it’s growing dark you try not to feel
the light leave the room.
But...

She fumbles trying to put her jacket on a ledge
I giggle
tell her that took a little too long
she giggles
tells me it’s the tequila
I stop, think,
she just got here
begin to grieve for her son
she goes and buys herself a drink.

He gets behind the wheel
too many to count
why bother
he drives better this way
swears it
is more careful
never been stopped
only when sober and speeding
swears it.

I get in the backseat of his car
giggling
letting my eyes droop
seat belt off
could be driving the wrong direction
but hey
if I die
at least I’m with blood
maybe if our blood spills it can mix
and if our blood mixes then we can finally be close
I wanna be close like that
so I’m cool like this
buzzing and buzzing
and silent and silent
make my way upstairs and pass out
just like that.

He gets behind the wheel
all sober and shit
driving home from a graduation party
after...

I wanted to write a poem
on the night after the night of crying

this is the first one
after the the last one that felt worse than death
and I remember describing it that way

after a year of death
to include: no one saw it coming, an endless nap, suicide, and
her,
the piece of bloodline that led to love
after all of it
it was this heartbreak that strapped me to the bed
or the floor
and it all felt like forever.

I wonder, if the one after that one
and every one after that
will always feel like
dry eyes on the night,
after the night of crying?

And is it because I have nothing left to give?
Am I the dry well left behind, kept for decoration,
maybe something nice to remember
but to never use to it’s full capacity
is my heart
something never to be used to it’s full capacity?

Or does learning to walk away
just begin to feel more like power
and less like pain?
Even...

When I call my father to talk about love
I call him to talk about
what we need to add to the Costco list
in a way,
I think we are actually having the conversation
But still I ask,
“Why do we never say I love you?”
He tells me
how he wasn’t raised this way
how Americans,
throw it around all the time
and it means
nothing
and don’t I already know?

The phone call ends on shopping lists
I’m sure I ask for the usual
oatmeal to last a lifetime
spinach
and almond milk.

I think when my father buys me almond milk
he thinks I’ll know he loves me
and on some level I do
but doesn’t he know?

The damage we are doing?
That almond milk purchases aren’t so innocent
that the bees are dying
that the land is starving

that not speaking of love
it will have consequences
that do not end with us.

We don’t talk about
what immigration feels like enough
to the degree
that I don’t know how to describe
what being an immigrant feels like enough

only say things like
I am not this
but also no longer that enough to say it
no sure what side of the ocean holds my home
being in America
has felt a bit like

a permanent type of temporary

and as confusing as that might sound
that is the best way I think I’ve ever described it
and it feels just like that
meaning
it feels
as confusing as that might sound.

When they ask me to speak my native language
I do
unless there are others of my type around
then I become hesitant
scared that my native language has become less native than theirs
scared
I am but a mere google translation away
from wrong
from I forgot the word for that
to
you know it doesn’t really translate over
like my dad
never fails tell me
that I do not
get...

The people lie in the cold of the Denver streets
the church still has its lights on
but doors locked.
God
only for the privileged.

My fathers still lights those candles
the wax still melts on church floors
he always forgets to bring the fire home.

Broadway reminds me of the only man
I came to love
fell for.
I remember him wrapping his arms around me
there
me
all butterflies
us
all kisses.

University reminds me of the man I thought
I’d fall in love with
but never tripped.
He brought me Broadway.

Broadway brought me home.

Home
reminds me that I like to be alone most times.
That I’m capable of loving myself in the quiet.
Think this might be why I fell in love
I was really trying to give myself away.

I think I gave myself to a man who hasn’t learned to love
himself in the quiet.
He tried to take me down too
made me feel less beautiful
I painted my face for him...

Ever hear the wind
blow through the trees
and remind you
that there are trees and wind
and you’re not the only thing
spinning on this planet
ya’ll we are spinning
on a planet!

Glued to her by our feet
our hips
the lucky ones
can spin by the crowns of their heads
ever think
about just how much love
it’s gotta take
to keep us all so close
think about
just how much
she doesn’t want to let us go

pulls us in by her core
and man
when we end
be it at our own hand
or nature’s way of aging
she pulls us in closer
let’s our dying cells blend
with every living piece she’s ever had to offer

she is so
unlike us,

doesn’t fear our death
and doesn’t punish whatever route we took to reach it
knows only how to nurture us further
while she nurtures herself further
chews our decaying bones
so we may rise another
play on her playground once more.

Ever think of that?
This...

If I ever fall in love with you
know
you are every poem I’ve ever written
every corpse hanging in the closet
every weed breaking pavement
and every cloud of cigarette smoke.

You
are the heroin that betrayed me
the lie and every truth
I pulled to the surface.

Know
ever word that rhymed
and every word that refused to
was a brick in our cathedral
look dear
how our love is a religion.

And know
if I ever fall in love with you
you are every blank page I have yet to fill
you are every pen
full
low on ink
and empty.

There will be days
that I scribble your hollow body
on blank pages
only to find that you have
nothing left to give
and if I still love you then
then it means forever
for holding onto an inkless pen
is a love only poets know how to write about.

And if you are loved by a poet
know
you will always be gazed upon as a work of art
whether you are hollow...

My dad is dealing with depression
skates over it every Sunday in isolation
talks about it in the same way that he taught us
meaning
if you follow the cords to our mics you’ll find their covered in piles of dust

rarely been used
only know silence
so he shoves it all down the stair case
hides resentment in the basement
but damn
if you could enter that house
you’ll smell how some shit can’t be buried.

Our best bet
is to dig it up
throw it on walls and see
what parts of us stick
see if we still can hear the voices of our childhood
taste the hope of immigration on our tongues and know,
it’s still there
even if it looks different
even if native tongue is my best kept secret
afraid to stumble upon bloodline so I keep it quiet.

When I say
my dad is dealing with depression, what I mean
is my family is dealing with depression
but we only know how to keep silent
let the Russian...

When you’re generalized anxiety disorder
looks like
buying broccoli from your local Sprouts.

I walk in,
phone in hand
in the case I forget my short list of three items
because you see
this is a short trip
an
in and out trip
a,
there’s nothing we gotta stress about here trip
don’t even need to freak out about the shopping cart cuz
it’s a grab a basket kinda trip
so

I grab a basket
but only after
I grab some bagels
not on the list but I promise me
I’ll thank me later
see,
we have
chicken, broccoli, milk, and dry shampoo if I can find it
but I can’t find it
so we have chicken, broccoli, milk,
plus some bagels.

Chickens first, thin cut thighs
can’t ever buy the first item so I grab the one from behind
I think this is how my mother raised me
or this is OCD
I guess it doesn’t really matter
as I make my way to the broccoli
but find,

it’s not alone
so I grab the...