M.J. Fievre

Happy, Okay?


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      her, there is no direction.

      Nothing

      sweet & succulent

      like ripe mamey, warm

      from the summer heat.

      A man who cannot

      light his own fire

      is doomed

      to reside in only dark

      & cold places.

      All around you,

      the sky is warming

      the asphalt; the air is alive.

      Paloma

      Say something.

      José Armando

      You scare me

      when you let yourself

      feel the friction

      of open space,

      feel the weight

      of too much

      of nothing,

      of

      who

      what

      why

      when.

      It all

      hangs heavy

      on you,

      drags you down.

      You scare me

      —but I am still here.

      Paloma

      Every night, the pills

      stick in my throat and

      work my gag reflex;

      I can feel my epiglottis

      shift when I swallow.

      You watch me

      like I’m somebody

      who needs watching

      & I don’t feel beautiful

      when I’m pinned

      & wriggling

      under the microscope

      of your gaze.

      Instead of medication,

      I want sunshine

      & birdsongs

      —the kind of laughter

      that begins in my chest

      & tumbles

      out & across

      my frame like waves

      lapping at the shore of a beach.

      With or without you

      I’m a shadow

      woman, a charcoal sketch:

      the sky gray,

      the earth black,

      the trees laced together

      by a meshwork of dark

      netting. Alone,

      even when surrounded.

      José Armando

      I don’t want

      to let you go.

      When you’re furious

      at me for no good

      reason, recalibrating

      a new set of imagined

      threats,

      I want to keep you

      close to me

      & hold your cheeks.

      So many times

      you’ve worried

      me, I’ve found you

      with deep grooves

      carved under

      your eyes,

      your body flat against

      the kitchen floor, as if

      begging

      it for the mercy

      of an embrace.

      You pine for solitude,

      but you have never

      been as alone

      as when you walk away

      from me.

      You’ve left me

      a dozen times, & still

      come back

      for nights

      when we walk

      beside the moonlit

      lake. In the morning,

      we watch the sky

      turn orange

      & azaleas seize

      the sunlight.

      The late

      acacia has tossed

      its pollen.

      In a few months,

      outside the North Hialeah

      Baptist Church,

      the black sapotes

      will be bleeding.

      I want to taste

      sun-ripened fruit

      with you.

      If you ever say

      you don’t believe

      in my love:

      I’ll stretch my arms.

      As your muscles

      tense against mine—

      I will hold you.

      From now on, each

      time you threaten

      to go—far, far away,

      never to come back

      —I’ll pull you close

      & allay all your old,

      fierce fears,

      your deep-rooted

      & still-gestating worries.

      I waited

      for someone

      my whole life;

      then here you are.

      I found you.

      I want to see you,

      hear you,

      smell you,

      hold you,

      in this space

      that belongs

      to no one really

      —a space of consistent

      fluctuation,

      a no-man’s land

      of intimacy.

      When you are happy,

      it is like the sky

      has a new name

      that we share.

      Let me love you

      with a love

      so