A Fix is Really a Song
Only the man says Hola! A smile is stuck on his face to dry. I flip him off like a bottle top. I could open my mouth and tell him he’s half-pregnant but I prefer to swallow the sound where it can spend some quality time in my uterus. The man’s love is an empty jar, an opened box. Mine is a home for the ocean and the islands. Of course, I’m a fulana bearing someone else’s baby. But every day is a song, the uglier I get.
She’s already picked out the dress she will wear when her sickness recedes, her health returns. Of course, she’s changed her mind once or twice, giving up on the floral summer skirt, the one bedecked with roses and butterflies. Something autumnal will do, its hues more hushed, the reds and browns a reward for weeks, for months, of paleness. For now, she’s wrapped in a nightdress. She undoes a button. Then does it up again.
JUANITA REY is a Dominican poet. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Opiate Journal, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.