One day we’ll live on that blue cobblestone street,
smelling of cat piss
and rotten hibiscus.
We’ll repaint one of those vacant houses
a redolent turquoise,
to match el mar salado
I’ll cut the calabaza in half
and the seeds will spew all over the tiled floor.
we’ll live off of arroz y habichuelas
and I’ll dress only in white cotton.
Tus canciones will caress me to sleep
when the coquis have died
and silence sings off of
all that colonial concrete.
We’ll decorate the house
Only with guiros.
We’ll read the newspaper in Café Mallorca,
powdered sugar melting instantly on our fingertips.
The moonless steel nights,
the frigid sidewalks,
the thick silences between our bodies,
will seem from another age,
heavy with doubt
and lacking in that sultry,
bright and soothing