POEMS

aquí la naturelza es una madre en el Bronx

when our blood runs motherless,

we do not live where we from

Our Islands are Subject to Flooding and Still,

Alabanza: In Praise of Our Mothers, In Praise of Their Hands

I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO MOURN MEN
WHO HAVE NOT TRIED TO KILL ME

On Ritual Washing

my dick is made of flowers: a trans-rememory

what language do you love in?

Our Bodies, Our Islands, Our Waters Remembering

Not an Ode to April 22nd, 2019

when you bleed for one hundred and five days,