December 2022

You call me ho; it’s short for home.

A cockroach falls from a chandelier

and my bodega loyalty fluctuates in

pace with the funeral’s bloody nose...

Why am I here again with all of them flittering about? Just to be alone—

It’s what I tell myself, that I too bear black spots on red skin,

It’s how we scamper about before flowing off with our chiffon wings ready to take flight

At a moment’s notice, I am against the wall once again, wainscotting...