i. Sasakia Charonda
the wings of the japanese emperor are blue and
in his hands is the kind of weapon you always wish
you knew how to use

his clean white spots shine from through seven decades
and one antenna is crooked, bent, from use
or misuse.  his hat sits quietly, draped with honor and
flowered polyester
in the same shade of innocent
as his military jacket. 

what kind of uniform is mullerian mimicry
with its medals and its stripes
if it cannot save you? 

ii. How to Fall in Love
forgive the ties that bind you
ignore the hot static that curls
around your belly at the sight (don’t move)
of anything
and jump

she tells you this in secret, and you know she is right. 

iii. 26 Julio
everyone knows that one culture
is not enough for a growing girl
and that havana’s candy-coated, tile-lined streets
must also account for your new hips,
strong and uncompromising through your skirts
embroidered with love and sunday’s fresh coffee. 

you crown your hair with comino and cilantro fresh from the supermarket showers
as if to say that one thing leads to another
as if to say here are my island genes

the porcelain angels that stand for fresh-dusted lampshades
look at you with the disdain only distant relatives can have.
their wings are like yours, cracked in faded pastel,
and when you see them, you fly.