Angel & Hannah

Angelito, cuz the way
She play with Rafi, my littlest angel,
the way she laughs with him all day & doesn’t tire
of his constant bothering and games.
She ain’t a wild chile like me —
that’s plain to see. He needs a good girl
in this too-tough world. One who will
treat him like gold. And I see —
the little things they do to please
each other — the sweets, the door openings,
the kisses and back rubs and holding hands —
it’s cute. Even innocent looking to me. I like it.
He needs more sugar in his life. I pray one day,
they make a baby & he makes her his wifey.

S.O.S.
When does their boat tip over?
What swells cause them to lurch,
turn sick inside, deep in da thick of it?
Perhaps when she saw Angel’s eyes roll back
in his head the first time, as he dozed off
in front of her ~ slow motion, sweet,
heartbreaking. His dad was a junkie,
strung out on that sleepy killa
and he left Angel’s mom. Sometimes at night,
Angel would take flight, while she was aroused, alive,
awake, with makeup perfect, baby ~ hair gelled,
present & ready for Love ~ he left her bereft, ignored, unwrapped,
dozing in hard drugs, caught in a generational despair
& an addict’s affair far deeper than she could bear.
What kind of papi can he be, when half the time, he’s a zombie?
So quickly it erodes, her sandcastle fairy ~ tale fantasy.


Sick
They don’t hear rivers running through walls anymore.
Stiff legs with curled toes, three
stick bodies rubbing for fire, for heat.
The landlord’s ignored all seven complaints she
hurled into his blinking machine. Rafi
sleeps between them like a squirrel nestled in
an oak’s hollow heart. Lately he coughs,
sneezes up green phlegm. His pale skin greens; he’s small
and dying. Hannah and Angel feel a thin-edged pain
slice through them like razor cuts.
Crying, Hannah carries him piggyback again
to Wyckoff’s emergency room. Rafi breathes
through a tube. Angel seethes.
Visiting hours over, but he refuses to leave.


Toothache
This time, it’s for Angel. She holds his limp head and cradles him
in the sick-lit, moaning room. It’s aiight, she soothes,
thumbing pages over his head. Romeo, that spoiled prince —
he had it easy, she fumes.
He had the luxury of attending masquerades, engaging in sword play —
he never had to beg to fix a swollen tooth
at Wyckoff’s emergency room because he
had no Medicaid. She lays Angel’s throbbing cheek on her shoulder.
Blue plastic seats
steal any ideas of comfort. All he had to worry about — the plain miseries
of love, she thinks. She stashes her schoolbook.
Tousles Angel’s hair, watches Days of Our Lives on a hanging tv.


Soledad
Hannah’s in the bathroom, fixing her curls for the movies
when the cordless phone rings. Soledad whispers,
You there? Hannah sits at the tub’s edge. Wassup?
He came over to chill, listen to the radio, then…
he shoved my face in the pillow, boots still
on, and took me from behind, the way
I never did it. She sobs. Bastard. Baby Daddy.
He said, it’s mine. It’s mine. Hannah grips the chill
sink ledge to keep from trembling. Ay, Soli,
she says. Soli Soli Soli.
No one should ever do that to you, baby. He had no right…
So I’m back on the shit. Soli cuts her off. I had to hit the pipe.
Silence. He’s coming — I’m out. Click.
Hannah’s world shrinks: a knot of black, tangled hair down the sink.


Girls’ Night
They lounge around a plastic kitchen table, legs splayed
in humid heat — Hannah, Bella, Rosie, Soledad, Antoinette.
After twelve Coronas with limes stuffed down sweaty necks, the girls let
loose: about Louie shoving the barrel of a silver .380
down Rosie’s throat, all fucked up on a cocktail of coke & weed,
how Loco bolted Suhayla into her bedroom, barring her
from Bushwick Night School. Hannah remembers
when she first met Loco, how he bragged about isotopes, his GED.
Bella confesses Duke once dragged her by her braids down Jefferson Street,
Soli, of getting her head pinned to concrete with Craze’s new Nike sneaker.
Hannah winces. Visions of butterflies pinned to flatboard, feebly
pulsing rubbed-off wings. Suddenly, she feels vulnerable, weaker,
an orange rind split with a sharp nail.
Outside Bella’s propped-open window, a bottle shatters into hail.


Milagros
Of all Angel’s titas she meets, Hannah is most
spellbound by Milagros ~ Jessie’s mom ~
a tough downtown lawyer by day, da bomb
bella boricua by night ~ with fly hot~pink boas
and thick black liner, who comes around once
in a blue, with her stunning morena girlfriend Destiny ~
they dance in Village balls & discos & live so wonderfully
free ~ it seems ~ free from boys who jail & hurt & insult with blunt
words & fists ~ they spread glitter & joy & tears & magic
when they come around, bring Barbie dolls for kids
& six-packs of Coronas to loosen up their stressed~out parents ~
they don’t stick around for any drama, honey, just long enough to Bless ~
to make Hannah dream another kind of life ~
filled with more freedom, laughter, more fierce joy & happiness.


Turn your eyes from me,
they overwhelm me.
~ Song of Songs


III.
Otoño
Fall
And fleckéd darkness like a drunkard reels
down Hart Street, while a long-fingered Winter steals
Alma’s last silvery gasp — so Angel’s left a motherless child with no path —
And you, dear Reader, in your loving home,
have you ever felt so deer-wounded or alone?
Like a stone leaping into the sea…
He’s locked in, but he wants to break free!
For a spell, she grew a little angel in her womb,
but Gotham wasn’t ready for a gift so sweet
& they didn’t have money to make ends meet.
So hopeless, she gives up her & Angel’s baby
& prays for her God to forgive her daily.
She finds out he cheated; she’s left disenchanted,
so he tattoos her name on his arm, not to be lonely, or stranded
but branded for eternity — his lover’s own cherished thing…
they cling to each other, fear what nights may bring…


Glow (Hannah)
My whole body’s tingling down to my
fingers. Something in my tummy warm &
lovely as