una poema:
The Lie (01.30.2004)
yerba mate breath against my lips,
it keeps him upright.
i lean into his hands
(sea green bruise, last night,
my right shoulder)
where is my turtleneck?
wednesday finally got the coffee out,
he can smell it
(i drink so much)
in my skin
damp under his hard hands,
what he promised this morning
(the clouds were not yet gulf blue)
he would stay
through the abortion, now he’ll send
the money when he gets
to san isabel.
(three hundred dollars
will make rent difficult)
his hot tea breath
burns my lips, know
i can’t kiss him.
i pull away.
_________
this came out of a brilliant painting by (i think) a mexican artist, and all i can remember is it was titled, The Lie.