I swallow the past, steadying myself against the back of a young birch tree. The past is pulped, palpable; it is large and too-huge to choke down. When I live in the present, I feel newly cleaned and scrubbed by sun. When I face the day brightly, I see the world through baby-eyes; I see freckles of color and rainbowed-light. So what to do?
What I shall do: I shall defy hauntings. I digest the past, in all its spikes; then I will forget it. I will know the past; it has kissed me blithely and squatted in my house; I will feel the wild grip of past and know it still struggles under my skin but I will not see it. It will be in me, but I will not love it. The past: that ghosted hunger; look, I’m going to ignore my appetite.
Oh present, I open my mouth to consume you in full.
Aren’t You Afraid?
If I go down, I’ll go down whistling.
Find me border-busting, singing the meanest songs.
I stopped waiting for any new man. I tramp and burn and tussle.
I soar without stopping.
Your old light dims darker,
But I see perfectly fine.
Yesterday, you asked me, Aren’t you afraid?
Of the truck dipped in night, growing closer,
Of the men who ripple the hills, poised to rush down?
I said, I live in motion—I neither rush nor slumber,
Sure, fear is the trickiest insect, but I already
Swatted him down.
They told me
I’m not fit to stand near their shoes
And I told them
I move smoothly,
I sit like swan,
I’m rock-heavy, big as boulder.
They told me I’m the sludge they kick laughing.
I said I’m huge, hot and shining,
I’m the road at midnight without wanderer,
I’m the cool when the night feels like blister. They told me, told me, told me,
And I stopped listening.
I tell them I’m the rain that drowns sycamores
And births fertile greens. I tell them
Baby, if you can’t feel my rain, then
You can’t feel a damn thing, and baby I’m sorry (but not sorry) for you.
To stick the firmest parts
Of your body into the heat
Of the earth and see what
To reach for the lowest
Part of soil and find
Your face there,
Along with the mouths
And minds of misted
To fit your loving body
Into spaces that know
To seek comfort
In the tongues of flowers.
I am still looking for my best
Ghosts under the grass.
I grow, I grow, I grow.
Limitations are a scarcity.
I rise, shaking off the broad shackles of control.
I don’t starve next to borders.
I live vibrantly, drenched thick in
I am not confined to cells or
I walk straight lines easy,
Confirmed in the stride I walk
And you’ll see it!
Damn, even if you don’t,
I embody the next new
And the dark shallows
I bring into me and shiver off.
Here’s the last sorrow:
I don’t sense it lasting.
Here’s the last pain:
I understand it in full
I love swiftly,
And move soft.
I am here, I decide it;
I am here and I remain
Note: These poems are part of Big Other’s Puerto Rican Writer’s Folio: A Hauntology
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