Hilary Cruz Meija is a queer Guatemalan poeta callejeando en las esquinas de la bay area.
Hablemos del amor
Mi corazón es una telaraña de consejos
acurrucado en el despliegue digestivo de una abejita
flooding in the resurrection of a political statement
of a lover with needs:
our love is our needs,
our approach to our needs is our love.
Love sounds like a riddle con un calco semántico
que adopta una muerte sin hechos crónicos
because love ain’t steady.
I mean, romantic love is a complex exploited configuration of sociopolitical fragments of our aesthetics.
I am not saying that I hate el romance,
but how many times did you fall with
the expectation of unconditional romantic love
recostada in the open arms of a love with conditions
erasing las chispas que aruñan el desespero… por amor.
this question is as open as the wounds all around my belly,
as broken como un vacito caído del techo.
I mean, love is like the sound of her voice entangled with the wind.
and the touch of a song in my ears.
Love is like getting up in the morning, feeding, and kissing ‘goodbye’ to el gato.
Like a whistle that sings to the body the route to a warm home.