Rocío Franco

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Epilogue To A Love Letter

            after Mary Ruefle

Beloved, when we thought we could put it behind us,
our vows came to haunt us; in sickness and in health,
in sickness and in health, in sickness and in health.
I felt my chest cleave open. You holding me on
the mattress as I turned into a tumbleweed of pain.
Our 5-year-old daughter mimicking your gentle hands
and stroking my head, you’re going to be ok, mommy.
For months, I lay on the couch. You saw me disappear
inside my clothes, face caved into a phantom,
and your eyes understood what your heart didn’t
want to know. Held my hand in the emergency room
as doctors and nurses swept in with evasive answers.
All their training just to keep guessing, prodding,
and repeating their misdiagnoses. If you had cancer,
you would have been dead already. Instead, it was 6 rounds
of chemo for all 4 stages missed in their lab reports.
From March to August, I sat tethered to the red devil.
You sat next to me in your concrete chair
and smiled warmly, making chemo tolerable.
After each treatment, you washed me tenderly
with the same care you bathe a newborn.
Never complaining as you lost sleep checking if
my chest rose and fell with breath. You kept me alive
by sheer will, held my despair, carried me through hell.
Our love has shined in daylight for everyone to see,
but commitment dwells in dusk. Beloved,
I’m embarrassed that I haven’t been able to write this
until now. But what else can I say about your steadiness.

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How She Went Out, Or Golden Shovel With Cardi B’s Wish Wish

           after Kemi Alabi

she didn’t live—filthy enough   but she’s not your filthy film    they
carved loving wife and mother on her headstone “but if they ask say
i’m a warrior—didn’t lose the  battle   i’m immortal in what i leave behind” my
god or your god couldn’t confine her in their coffins clocks measure time
for flesh but not for spirit—she inhabits her favorite lyrics and is
your favorite song   your speakers sway to her and she’s almost
vengeful in her singing but refuses to ghost the living—everything is up
from ash to dandelion  from dirt to branches   there’s no cold that can tell
her not to spring   there's no shade in her sun  she illuminates you and them
when demons want to dwell in her cells she grapples the bitches
and drags them back to hell  tells them to step off and make a wish
she doesn’t follow them   and blow them out blow them out  like a wish

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The Dangers Of A Mouth

I was born free with a name, then pronouns, but wound up in my mother’s mouth.
A child can show remorse for living, but they still wind up swallowed by a mouth.

The lips on the billboard near Ashland and Archer always pulsated.
My sister’s lips only held color when blood dripped from her mouth.

When I was eleven, my tongue tasted sweet only with a red Jolly Rancher.
A tongue can push on a cheek and glide around teeth with a closed mouth.

A poet corrected me once and told me that teeth can’t chatter against gums.
When teeth fall one by one, the gums are exposed and gaping in the mouth.

Some horror movies should also be considered documentaries by filmmakers.
I once saw a film where a woman had no lips and a black hole was her mouth.

I don’t want to describe home as a war zone, but bombs go off in every room.
Have you ever woken up to grenades going off in your father’s mouth?

All the macho fathers on the block loved watching Julio César Chávez fight on TV.
A jab and a hook can do a lot of damage to the body and cause a busted-up mouth.

My parents sent us to Catholic School where they taught us to pray in English and in Spanish.
When Rocío swore, they would take soap and say abre tu boca which means open your mouth.

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Banner Art:
Photo by Krzysztof Niewolny, Unsplash, 2017