Trisha Tavares

Who

You are an outsider, always

blending in at first— until the questions 

probe and push, force you to choose

a box

a culture

an ethnicity

a race

a country 

a people

a language

In Manhattan, you dissolve

 into the background 

blending in on Black blocks

 and at  

Dominican or Puerto Rican

parties and parades

Pelo malo and second-generation 

Spanish make you second class

in West New York, but 

hips can’t hide 

your bloodline 

on the dancefloor

and lips can’t conceal

your Cubonics

when the drums of ancestors

beat each breath,  

bleed through your veins

You don ’t want the hyphens—

they are all wrong

all missing something

African American? No

Cuban American? No

Afro Cuban? No

But 

yes, yes, and yes

all wrong, and all 

somehow 

a little bit

right

Teresa’s First Time

Teresa has answered the call of the moon

Two decades from now, her body will 

cocoon another human being 

she will make a person from

mystery, magic, love, and science

She snuggles under the silken blanket

tapestry of stories, advice, and answers

spun by women over decades, centuries

to welcome tomorrow’s mothers

bestowing the gift of being woman

the crux, the meaning 

of life