
not interested in feminism  
seeped in racist thought  
nor to fight for women’s rights  
to become a corporate bot

don’t just shatter the glass ceiling  
ignoring the sticky floor  
if you came to save us  
you can take the exit door

if you really believe in sisterhood  
join us in our fight  
no, we are not voiceless  
just pass the goddam mic


not interested in feminism/ seeped in racist thought/ nor to fight for women’s rights/ to become a corporate bot

feminist manifesto

Every year,  
monsoon winds arrive, soaking  
the dusty, parched valley floor  
faraway, hills tumble down to meet the river  
outside, the galli becomes a rivulet  
inside, the family of three start  
their annual rain dance of  
carefully choreographed steps  
with pots and pans and old paint cans  
placing them here, there, everywhere  
moving them, again and again  
to catch the heavenfall  
in drops and drips before  
they hit the mud floor, before  
the room becomes river  
soaking clothes and curtains  
and books galore

Next year,  
next year will be different  
we say,  
waiting for a few sheets of corrugated steel  
yet another year

(_Included in the Bronx Memoir Project Volume V — 2021, published by Bronx Council on the Arts_)

inside, the family of three start/ their annual rain dance of/ carefully choreographed steps

Rain Dance

_First published in Newtown Literary, Issue 16 (Spring/Summer 2020)._

Go. Back. Home.  
three small words  
pierced the mundane  
Tuesday grocery run  
even though across  
the street was,  
had been for  
a dozen years,  
my only home.

home

I would have  
stayed on the phone forever if  
I had known  
the next call across the ocean  
would come carrying a message and punch  
a hole in my heart  
where things fall and disappear like  
the Bermuda triangle  
names in photographs / scribbled notecards /  
moments  
in history / parts of family tree / political debates /  
trivia contests / stories / memories

Been five years, still  
things disappear  
into a hole in my heart  
shaped like my father

_First published in Newtown Literary, Issue 16 (Spring/Summer 2020)._

Items are showing from Poetry

feminist manifesto

Rain Dance

home

hole in my heart