Tian Sanchez-Ballado

Yassified Barney

We were stuck in South Beach traffic
as I—a preteen—gazed
     out
the window of my dad’s
     white
Toyota Tundra.

Why did he even need a truck
that fucking big?

Padrino sat in the car with us.
A man who wanted to be a priest,
became disillusioned with the church,
and left. He never married…
I always wondered why.
And wondered about curious books—
Achilles,
Patroclus,
Harmodius,
Aristogeiton—
in his home library.

Then she appeared.

A dazzling sister
strutting down Collins Ave
to the sound of Whitney’s
“I’m Every Woman,”
like a goddess—
peculiarly beautiful,
        confusing—
            No, obvious.        

in a purple bodysuit
with a long cape
held by shirtless men
with bodies I envied…?
wanted…?

And long
electric green hair—

like a yassified Barney.

Not dropped from heaven exactly,
but from Cher’s villa,
past Versace’s gate,
onto the pavement of South Beach.

My first unhidden angel.

The wonder flashed across my face
like a shooting star—
or the ephemeral burst of a firefly.

You looked right at me.
And winked.
You. Saw. Me.

      me.