don’t kill women

to say, we must love women as a little spit-shined pearl is not enough

the obvious has gone too, too, too far unexamined

like a meticulously executed genocide, of more than half, of the world’s skin

misused, to decorate the floors of hunting cabins, for sport trophy 


some of us
  some of us   some of us

some of us, before our tenth birthday

                             and in plain sight of the unflinching respectable

                             and, for some of us, this soul dance of heroic going-on, and on, and

surviving the respectable is not for everyone 

but some of us are still here 

love women

Love us because we are here


Love us, even though we are all waiting to be digested inside this beast

 

 

©Jessie Sandoval

love for the cold

love for the cold is the tittle, of a series-collection of poems

  tiny feathers   youfeel   heartbeating   on   the   inside
         of   your   arm   microscopically   concaving
                        that   part
                     of     the     skin
                    they   are   collecting
                         sugarwater
   like a balcony birdfeeder     summoning hummingbirds

 

©Jessie Sandoval

9 Valentines on the last day of February

lOVE what do you know
that it can be silly and it can be cold


I was gunna drop acid with you, but you got messy
love is for the cold


measure twice
cut once


lOVE
I’m terrified it will quicken the dark into a solid cannonball


because there is nothing like that again after your belly is full like that


oh, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
how I wish high school Shakespeare hadn’t been taught to me, as a morality and ethics workshop for aspiring pre-law students


it is the illusive palpable philosophical aspect of Quantum mechanics
that has always made me cry

how we try being in this place
that is already uncertain
and probably being something else in light years


if you were to tell me you are a winged crocodile unicorn I would believe you

this is     how      I love
it     is      my way

but I know everything, so it’s easy


I’ve known people, mujeres criminales, who have died for love
I’m here because of them

 

 

 

©Jessie Sandoval


Nicaraguans on a California Beach

With my brother.
Santa Cruz, California. Circa 1980.


In Spanish we have another word, for skin, that is not piel

pellejo

and that is like saying, ragged bone, that is not pearl

 

©Jessie Sandoval

Preface

Somewhere in my dead grandmother’s chest of drawers
lies a baby curl, sacrificed from my head in the custom of our people, before a journey

 

©Jessie Sandoval

 

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