all you need to know:
we legally have this kid
(it’s not your business)

all you need to know:
we legally have this kid
(it’s not your business)

most don’t write for me
it must be a blue moon day
and i am so blessed


sometimes darkness wins
in the midst of a school day
until we find light

replaceable glass
that shatters understanding
as we question all
my son shares his home
with diagonal slices
of sweet plátanos

the pic of the day:
shattered shards of icy glass
in a parking lot?

a partner ski date
with never-gets-old peak views
and perfect powder?

or my son’s bracelet
two weeks into this new life
we’re building from scratch?

it’s my dilemma:
choosing the best words, pictures
to capture this life


“Hiking? In the forest? No. Only to look for firewood to cook our food. Not for fun.”
“Yes, I’ve ‘visited’ Mexico. I was there for two months waiting for the coyote.”
“In a room the size of this kitchen there were forty of us. They gave us blankets just like that [pointing to tinfoil]. And when they had to wake someone up to deport them, they woke all of us. And they came in every fifteen minutes to wake someone.”
“Hermano, mira. Hay una lavandería aquí en la casa.”
“My 23-year-old brother wanted to come, but he can’t run fast enough.”
“He can’t run fast enough?”
“To get on the train. I saw so many… broken legs, arms. Even a body with its legs completely amputated. You have to be able to run.”
“I crossed the Rio Grande on a raft.”
“I’ve never seen a dishwasher. We had to wash our clothes and dishes by hand.”
“Eggs, beans, and rice for lunch and dinner. Coffee for breakfast.”
“My cousin bought me the plane ticket, the phone, everything. And the detention center had all of his information, so when I arrived at the airport, the police were waiting for him.”
“$250 here for strep antibiotics? In my country it’s free. Being sick here is a luxury I guess.”
I guess it is.
our preparations
for this moment of our lives
go beyond torrejas

beyond this sweet sauce,
this Christmas stocking for you,
beyond this moment


our preparations
go beyond twenty-two years
when we were babies
when we were in love
as only the young can be
and he promised me
what promise, you ask?
to open our home with love
when it is needed
was this small reward
worth 200 work hours?
yes, yes, yes, fuck yes.

the small sentences
of my Newcomer student
make teaching worthwhile

first Newcomer year
brings the joy of teaching back
at career’s midpoint




