Y. Núñez

Winters without Charlie

winters be mad cold 

inside mami’s apartment

no calefacción 

nobody to hold

no space to bring lovers home

no space to hold grief

no space to hold me

aromatherapy

will have to do, will

have to make up for 

tu si ere’ fría m’ija

igual a papi 

same as my mother 

though, she do be trying to

break cycles, patterns

i am no different

constantly checking the stove

OCD gotta 

hold of me, really 

got a hold of me, really

got a hold of me

winters are colder

without drink, without Charlie

summer, fall, spring too

desde que te perdi, mi

feo pero sabroso

conga-playing love

my soul’s been displaced 

seeking comfort in bodies

lands unwelcoming 

where do i belong?

nobody wanna hear it 

nobody sees me

take me back to you

where you held me in freestyles

‘bout falling in love 

with your better half

my full-time lover, my home

my lyrics, my song

winters be mad cold

inside mami’s apartment

without his calor

memories that can only belong to you if you grew up poor in NYC

Remember when we’d empty the alcancía in the middle of the living room 

How we’d sit on cold floors like obedient kindergarteners 

separating  coins by size and color for the packing

stuffing the coin wrappers tight 

Folding the ends of the paper 

So as not to let the weight of “not enough money” break it

and afterward we’d celebrate with pepsi and vanilla 

stirred in prefrozen plastic cups 

pretend to toast root bear before slurping the foam off the top

Just like we had seen some family do it somewhere on tv

Back when every day was do-it-yourself 

rewashing Bounty paper towels because disposing them after one use 

is only a suggestion, not a solution 

my fam and i used to fold Bounty 

place it under the faucet 

and tie it with a rubber band

do it yourself filtration system 

you know its working when the Bounty yellows 

plays dead while you guess whats in the drinking water 

then remove it to catch glitter / black pepper / metal / resting in a bed of daffodil tinted linen 

Bounty is good, but a pañuelo is better 

hope you’re not too attached to it

hope you didn’t lift it from your grandfather’s guayabera’s pockets

Hope your drinking water is safer than whatever you collected while it poured yesterday afternoon 

Dixie cups tied with tía’s leftover fabrics hanging on the other side of grandpa’s window guards 

repurpose leftover white rice

stir fry eggs, black pepper, and queso duro 

call it daddy’s grand creation 

and then never make it like him again 

regift hand-me-downs 

as the seasons change

as new cousins are born 

as you no longer recognize your body in the bathroom mirror 

ship it off in a tank to DR 

a separate treasure box with at least one of every state quarter 

in case its worth anything in the future 

shining pennies & silver jewelry with ketchup and an old toothbrush 

pretend the sound of the sewing machine pedal is 1000 horses galloping in a countryside you’ve never been to 

drinking tampico after school 

diluting it with water & ice

when a bucket under the bed becomes a letrina 

perfect for avoiding walking in dark hallways 

for avoiding creaky floorboards on the way to the bathroom 

for avoiding waking up anyone sleeping on the couches 

for un-oiled door hinges 

not wanting to alert anyone you’re up past your bedtime 

taking an extra handful of condiments and stashing them in the cupboard 

my grandfather used to sharpen my pencils with his boxcutter 

boiling water and letting it cool 

saving the christmas gift bags for next year 

everything revolves around reuse 

repurpose

& save 

flatten out aluminum foil to repack your lunch 

entertain yourself with paper by making paper-boats, hats, and airplanes 

and never wonder if you could ever sail or fly or why these are always white 

and why the sheets are always lined in blue ink

blue keeps you in line 

except on game night: nombre, apellido, flor, país, 

uno, dominos, and regular cards, 

show them your magic trick 

using 21 cards 

how you could always guess their card before it reached the middle 

how creativity flows as if from nothing