diary entry #14: navigating
BY DIANNELY ANTIGUA
This is how I do things:
control my cravings, hide in store alcoves,
become undesirable. Once I’m pregnant,
how will I justify wearing
what happened as a child. I want to
escape what the rain reminds me of—
wet pill, black dress, the night I
dragged my own paradise. My mother
misses me, wishes she could rock me to sleep. I
didn’t go to Spain,
though Calle Pureza is all I have left.
I took the metro to the cinema, another date
without his tongue as the center. In my nightmare,
he is moaning in my ear. I tell myself
I would do a lot of things
if only I were asked. To share
my bed with one person
I wouldn’t have to pack my bags
with toilet paper and soap. I remember when
noise would bother me—
a father with crying babies,
a watered-down sweet.