Thought I would share one of the poems from my book of prose poetry, Compañero. I can't believe its been eight years since it has been published. I really love prose poetry; in many ways it was my entry point into narrative nonfiction, poetic inquiry and autoethnography.
If Only but for a Moment
Do you remember lying fully dressed in your bed in that Japanese hotel in New York a few years ago? Writhing in mad laugher like brain diseased cows. Perhaps at our own stupidity. Or that of others. At our sadness that overtook us like legions. At the absurd things women have said to me during sex, inane things whispered in return. Perhaps about that time in high school; I pretended to be a radio disc jockey, booming corny voice and all, and a granted false limousine ride to that grim girl from math class. I remember always our laughter, holding off that Egyptian dark dullness of your depression, for moments fleeting like the blur of blue wind. Maybe we were seventeen, that one time I tried to kiss you. Why didn't you close your eyes? Perhaps you knew, that if you locked them tight, your eyelashes pointing down like thin fingers towards your center, if you had let go, that we would have fallen in love. Perhaps, you knew you needed me never to see you, to know you, as a woman. But sitting here, imagining you having fallen again into that auburn void, that bottomless despair, I wished you would have shut your eyes, if only, but for, a moment
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