Don’t tell my mother if they kill me #5

Tell my mom I finally made peace
with every demon inside of me
we threw a party, danced forever
weathered the pale onslaught
together we survived the blizzard

Tell my mom I became another animal,
scraggly coyote fighting against winter
tell her I’m the one they call summer
tell her I’m the one they call wind
tell her I’m the holes of light in sky

Tell my mom I never caught an exit wound
taught myself to absorb the violence around me
learned to crumple my corpse into a collapsed flower

Don’t tell my mother if they kill me #6

Tell my mother to raise her other
children, may they forget my name
remember to destroy every wall or border

Tell my family I finally went crazy
left laziness behind and quit drinking
let them think I’ve become a season

Tell my mother not to worry so much.
Let her think I’ve done good for once
say I formed a small town of language
now I live there, life like poetry, always

Tell my family I finally had it with the white world
I went to evaporate every pale tear and fragile centrist
wanted to erase whatever whiteness was left
wanted this planet to be Black, Brown, and green again;
we’ll be the ones to write a new blues for the sky to sing
This time there’ll be gold clouds; ancestors & stars, forever

Don’t tell my mother if they kill me #7

Tell my mother I raised a revolution instead of a kid
let her know I nurtured the sound of what came next
tell her of the trees we planted to organize under
let her know I knotted the throat of old whiteness
tell her of the rivers we rerouted to origin
let her know I more than just wrote, I lived.

Tell my mother I picked up where she left off raising
the sun as my own, I let it go and hold shadow vigil
lighting wicks as replicas; miniaturizing our orbit

Orchard song For CA Conrad


Growing crystals below
The apple trees

Sometimes crystals
Grow apples
and trees

Despite the was
Now is always
After arriving

You stay the same
You remain dreaming.

Angel Dominguez is a Latinx poet and performance artist of Yucatec Mayan descent; the author of Desgraciado (Econo Textual Objects, 2017), and Black Lavender Milk (Timeless Infinite Light, 2015). His work can be found in Berkeley Poetry Review, Brooklyn Magazine, FENCE, NY Tyrant, Queen Mobs Teahouse, and elsewhere. Follow him on Twitter @dandelionglitch or irl in the redwoods, or ocean.