His mother yells from the back
of the hot kitchen, and she has big hips,
is bringing new breads into our
bassinet mouths.
He (Gael) brings the equator with
him all the time. He is a dark sun man,
naked, singing:
I got to get the dust off me.
He makes love to remain temporary,
to clean himself of time,
to get Jesus’ stray hairs off.
I am paralyzed:
¿dónde está tu mamá?
Gael doesn’t mind
he builds diamonds
into my shoulders behind me
on her Venezuelan staircase.
His mother calls us and she sounds
like monsters marching in deserts
we drum drum drum.
Lisa Marie Basile is the author of the forthcoming A Decent Voodoo, (Cervená Barva Press, 2012) and a chapbook, Diorama (Wisp Press). She recently was published in Pear Noir!, >kill author, Foundling Review and Moon Milk Review. She is the founding editor and publisher of Patasola Press and currently reads poetry for Weave Magazine. She performs with the Poetry Brothel as Luna Liprari and is an M.F.A. candidate at The New School. She is a member of the Poetry Society of New York.
