In dark rooms, girls like neon fish flashing grins
loathing the predictability of the sun,
like being dealt the same cards every day.
Sometimes they just want to burrow under
the bedsheets, wearing full makeup---
They will take the darkness as a lover.
Sometimes every other house another girl
infinite gallery of black butterflies pinned to
windows' hypnotic moon. Verde luna, mal barrio.
Cali girl, she waits for the boom-boom car
to take off into the underage sunset.
I'm telling you homegirl, la maldicion
is for real. You don't believe me?
On Friday a car is going to stop on the corner
and you're gonna get jumped so bad
your ass is gonna get knocked into next week.
The rain from the Pacific
quivers and silvers the windows.
The bells of the church
ring the hour of stars and restless breezes.
We're never leaving this place
broken hearts asleep in immense night
where we retrace our steps in a labyrinth of solitude.
Dahlia Rhodes lives in the SF Bay Area. Her fiction has appeared in Black Scat Review, and her poetry in Arsenic Lobster and Bitterzoet.