I have two poems in the latest issue of Sin Fronteras. Here is one of them:
WHY EVERYONE’S FAVORITE UNCLE MISSED THE WEDDING
From table to table he goes like stations of the cross, from meeting to weeping to nailing. They eat each other’s salt and it tastes like flesh, they touch each other’s flesh and it feels like salt. Someone at the table will soon get ill, someone at the table will die. He grows tired of playing Prospero or the Bodhisattva of Perpetual Learning, but he can’t help himself around family. He grows tired of playing himself and the only way to stop is solitude, but alone he can hear his heart, and every beat prop