Postcards to Willie Perdomo: November 29, 2008
1.
Willie, baby, when Eloy showed
me the wedding rings I broke out in tears.
He had to get a doctor to calm me down.
I was so innocent, didn’t even know why
I followed him to Bolivia.
2.
“Yo fui la mas callada
de todas las que hicieron el viaje hasta tu Puerto.”
The sky fell. Willie, write me a poem that will bring me
back to life, papi. Be my distraction, or I am going
to find a tall blue eyed angel
with baker hands and lips like James Dean.
3.
“A dormir se van ahora mis lagrimas
por donde tu cruzaste mi verso.”
Negro, I’ve murdered myself so many times
the effort is starting to hurt.
Someone stole my poetry. They wanted
to teach me to write on paper. Ha, as if everything
I do isn’t already written in blood.
I begged mama to help me die,
but she refused, had to slash my own wrist.
4.
“Todos los ojos del viento
ya me lloraron por muerta.”
Do you think ghosts can ask for asylum in Cuba?
Willie, take my clothes off. Look at my scars
without crying and tell me I’m beautiful. Don’t lie.
Wanting to drink a cup of coffee with you
reading me Ginsberg, Cimic, and Julia.
tuyo para siempre
Sergio
© Sergio A. Ortiz 2008 first Published in Rust and Moth
Willie, baby, when Eloy showed
me the wedding rings I broke out in tears.
He had to get a doctor to calm me down.
I was so innocent, didn’t even know why
I followed him to Bolivia.
2.
“Yo fui la mas callada
de todas las que hicieron el viaje hasta tu Puerto.”
The sky fell. Willie, write me a poem that will bring me
back to life, papi. Be my distraction, or I am going
to find a tall blue eyed angel
with baker hands and lips like James Dean.
3.
“A dormir se van ahora mis lagrimas
por donde tu cruzaste mi verso.”
Negro, I’ve murdered myself so many times
the effort is starting to hurt.
Someone stole my poetry. They wanted
to teach me to write on paper. Ha, as if everything
I do isn’t already written in blood.
I begged mama to help me die,
but she refused, had to slash my own wrist.
4.
“Todos los ojos del viento
ya me lloraron por muerta.”
Do you think ghosts can ask for asylum in Cuba?
Willie, take my clothes off. Look at my scars
without crying and tell me I’m beautiful. Don’t lie.
Wanting to drink a cup of coffee with you
reading me Ginsberg, Cimic, and Julia.
tuyo para siempre
Sergio
© Sergio A. Ortiz 2008 first Published in Rust and Moth
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