Violeta Garza

A VECES ME PONGO BRAVA / HOME 

A veces me pongo brava.

I’ll be driving my blue Prius 

and I’ll reach an intersection

where someone else’s car and mine play a game of 

“Who’s on first?” Most days, I play it safe and let them go.

But some days, I step on the gas. 

Cos I know I can. 

Que se aguante porque yo no me espero.

A veces me pongo brava.

I’ll be at an important meeting headed by some big shot.

Around me, I hear lots of ass-kissing. 

Pero yo no.

Sometimes I’ll rib them

as if they were

dorky little siblings.

Cos I know I can. 

Que se rían porque yo no me agüito.

A veces me pongo brava.

I’ll be at home in my closet

and I’ll pick out the flattering dress

that I usually leave

in the cobwebs corner.

I slip it on, and this dress turns me over onto my knees

and licks my hips the way my ex would.

Cos I know I can,

I’ll walk out in this dress and

move just right

to make it look like

I’m not doin’ nuthin’ but walkin’.

Que se les caigan las babas porque yo no me escondo.

A veces me pongo brava

y me olvido de la pinche dieta

cos I want sugar on these lips

and no one is appreciating 

these beauties 

the way they deserve.

A list of the things I deserve– 

these things 

could not fit

on a never-ending 

scroll.

A veces me pongo– 

pos pa’ que te miento.

A veces me pongo 

tristona, 

chillona, 

alone-a.

Sometimes I feel forgotten, like I’m too much of a good thing for this world, 

a shiny currency made of an element 

no one has seen before,

much less appreciated. 

Una monedita cósmica. 

And while I was living my gorgeous, incongruous life, 

everyone else made 

sacrifices

so they could keep their families and friends.

But I chose worldliness and travel and knowledge.

Y me aventé solita por el mundo. 

Y solita me quedé. 

Solita que quedé. 

Home.

I’m home again for the first time in a long time.

I want to stay.

I’m trying to liquify my roots and

pour them into the ground

like tequila at the foot of a mesquite tree,

the accordion of

Flaco Jimenez

playing through the fluttering leaves.

Híjole. Tequila. Flaco Jimenez.

There I go with the lying again. 

I don’t drink tequila and I rarely listen to Flaco. 

Just hoped I’d win points with my people.

To tell you the truth,

I lie to myself more than I lie to others.

Can’t decide if that means I’ve evolved or not.

More than lying, I’m trying.

Trying just to be me.

Home.

I’m home again for the first time in a long time.

My journey has been all craters and crannies and contradictions.

I crave history.

I crave my life and the lives of others.

I crave a shared casita where Yves Montand, Utada Hikaru, Juan Gabriel, and Tori

Amos can all co-exist on more than just a playlist.

Home.

I’m home again.

For the first time.

In a long time.

In the dark, I feel for the light switch on the wall,

only to find nothing there.