Angel & Hannah

concrete stairwell.
Some minutes later, he emerges: a kid,
untethered and free playing tag.
But Angel knows what lurks under car hulls,
Wolverine-clawed, waiting to snatch Rafi by his ankles
and drag him as prey into its lair. Angel stands guard,
hawk over nest, guarding his brother-prince.
After tag, he buys Rafi a ham sandwich and hot
chocolate at the bodega. And a sour apple Blow Pop for fifteen cents.
No, he thinks. You can’t take him yet. Not without a fight.
I still need him, this side of the light.

Paloma
Paloma’s apartment is a way station for lost angels
tucked deep in Brownsville’s Howard Housing’s projects.
He slips in with dawn, ignores the little Jesuses
praying on sills, dead cousins stiff in army suits,
or pretty-in-pink tías framed on wooden walls.
Adobo steams the kitchen as Paloma stirs.
Paloma, his abuela, always readying
a hot plate for a hungry mouth, tucking her own griefs
into her netted bun. Angel shifts on the plastic-covered couch.
Stares out the barred window.
Plays Nintendo with Rafi till humid night falls. As he grabs his keys,
he asks Paloma with an outstretched hand, Can you bless me?
She kisses his forehead, gives him a bendición, mijo, instead of money.


Nintendo
Rafi hunches forward,
murders buttons. His teeth bite
his lower lip, he snarls as he swings
Bowser 360 degrees into an abyss, green-
fire burning his glasses, he cheers, Yes! I
beat him!
Even the tv sings mechanical praise
and crowns him…Before I go
to the next level, he says, inhaling deep.
He cracks his boyknuckles and grins.
Hannah grins back, tousles his hair. Good
luck, Rafi, she says. Yeah. I need it. He smirks.
She winces. Outside, sunlight dies
slow while his wild sixteen-bit dream begins ~
she sits back to watch Rafi fight his dragon
with flicks of his small joystick.


Paloma’s Prayer
Blessed be my daughter, Alma de Jesus, mother of Angel,
Soledad, y Rafael…rest in peace, Scarface Willy,
once married to Angel’s second cousin Jessie
who made the block’s best pernil,
y por favor, disculpe a Tío Rafael,
un alcohólico y former Latin King released
from Rikers only two weeks before he gave el SIDA
to shy, long-haired Solibel,
who lives across the stairwell
from Angel’s titi Bella;
bendita, they say she cries at night, well
after her three boys be sleeping,
God, watch over her please, as well
as Alma’s baby, my last grandson, Rafi.


Secret (Hannah)
A pain so big I can barely understand it.
Talk with Angel? Yeah right.
But Rafi. Oh Rafi.
No turning back now. How? Once his fingers
locked round my neck & I galloped
him down Crescent, his giggles bubbling like soda pop,
once he made me peanut-buttered toast,
called me BananaFanaMomanaHannah, that’s it.
I’m locked in. Not pity anymore,
or tenderness, it’s too close,
this pain breaks me like old wishes.
He’s my brother now too. And he’s got a secret
tucked in his redblood cells and it hurts
to look at a kid & think about Death…
it hurts cuz his hair sticks up funny when he scratches it, cuz
he burps the McDonald’s theme song, battles dragons, opens
bodega doors for you like a little prince…it’s disgusting
to look at a kid & think about his expiration date. You want to vomit.
And you want him to never vomit,
wanna give him every Marvel comic, every Game Boy,
every small happiness, wanna break Joey’s arm for sucker-punching him,
but you gotta let him fall & fight,
hurt & cry & you must honor his plight,
cuz he doesn’t wanna be babied,
he wants to Live.
So, you let him run, wild,
but corner-eye-spy him, less than a block away,
play older sis for a day.
Angel, his eyes
go soft when he looks at Rafi,
even tho he talks hard like an older brother should.
Nah, girl, we never talk about it — what is there to say?
My little brother got AIDS? No word could change a thing…
he was born with it, he’ll die with it, only question, when…
only solution, make his days as fun & gentle as we can…
and Rafi’s so cute, ma, when he skips between us,
he says, Banana Hannah, Angel — can you fly me?
Please? Fly me! So, we gotta grab his hands and swing him
like a crescent moon, his laughter pealing,
again, again! We gotta lift him for two blocks
till our arms get sore, even when he wants
more, more, more!
So we gotta try ~ we fly him
till he almost grows wings, nena. Ay.
That kid makes my heart sing.


Buggin’
Ooh! Youse is kissing! Rafi shrieks, when
Hannah & Angel flop in bed. He peers up close,
watching from inches away.
Are you guys gonna get married?
Yes, Angel says, now go away.
Rafi disappears, comes back hauling
a waist-high mirror — Look at ya’ll! Look!
He scrunches his face and moans…
two peanut butter jelly sammiches
sit messy on the dresser. Breakfast! Rafi grins.
I made it myself. Hannah takes a bite and kisses him.
Thank you, baby, she says. You’re so sweet…Nah,
I’m a bug…I’m buggin’, he says,
strut ~ hopping into the kitchen.


Monster
El SIDA. Angel calls it the monster under his breath.
At night, it spiders windows with a hammer.
Snatches Tío Demas, two cousins, his mother
from bed. Sucks air out their mouths, blows death
in ~ a grotesque kiss. Thins cheeks to rice paper.
A white moss crystallizes lips. Sores sprout: blossoms.
Wrist-veins, green stems.
Worst, it leaves a mother too thin to give one last blessing
to a devastated son.
Sometimes a man needs
to be held, no questions.
Hannah rubs his lower back in circles.
Her eyes soak in his slump.
I’ll protect you, she wants to say, but can’t.


Rafi’s Voice
When I die I don’t want to be buried
in dirt cuz I saw a kitten last week
dead behind the school fence —
and he had bugs and maggots all crawling
out of his ear into his eye —
white, tiny, eating him from the inside.
When I die, Paloma, put me in a box
and burn me in a fire like I seen on Channel 13 —
then take all my smoke and dirt,
all the small handfuls of me,
and climb the Empire State, Paloma —
climb it and throw me in the wind
so I can fly like those pigeons
who black the sky with their wings


Alma’s Voice
She’s a keeper, I told