|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
Reduced to a can of Goya beans
on the side,
a dash of adobo for flavor
(because too much would simply spoil it),
simplified to a coqueta*
with salsa-swaying hips
by those with superficial understanding
who can’t hear her stories
nor the song in her elongated, mispronounced words.
A Goya bean-eating dancing coqueta,
but she can turn two cups of rice into four,
give an embrace that binds wounds with silk threads
while she carries opened ones,
struggling alone to pay for college
with the money earned from her two jobs.