Coffee Cups

In the morning the steam from my
Coffee makes a rainbow on the glass
Pane behind the kitchen counter
Where it sings and dew drops form
After the storm of my night.
My emotions that pass like clouds
In dreams replacing one scene with
Another with no respect to time, logic.
The taste of the coffee is bitter; the
Sun rises over the mug warming my
Fingertips and I smile in the
Ritual of a new day.

Robbery

I drink coffee,
A little girl screams.
I walk to the balcony
To peer over the street
In either a wave of humanity
Or morbid curiosity.
It’s difficult to know
In the moment. She is
running with red hair
Like fire behind her, echoing.
Behind her a woman walks,
Hair colorless, with a
Grocery bag and a gait that is
Too calm for the situation.
She confers with the downstairs
Neighbor while the girl disappears
Out of sight. And this is how
Violence passes, unseen and
Ever present.

Conde de Bonfim

I feel like a ghost, my
Presence is acknowledged yet
Contested. In conversation,
Words grow like mushrooms
In my mouth and I am helpless
Like a child, eyes wide in anger
Rage-biting fear.

So many words choked in my
Throat, my tongue swells, and
The explosion comes. In English.
Against the wind. Against the
Battle cry of my own beating heart
That sweats in the hot sun,
Wondering if veins are like
Portable roots. It is not culture
Shock so much as withdrawal.