notes at a poetry reading

Nov 17, 2013 roberto santiago: notes at a poetry reading Though their mouths don’t move, their brows unfurl, raise, and become impressed. I fight myself awake. Raise my weapon.Turn the page. Think about the lines that never made it out from of the wastebasket. The tin filled with fists, declarations of war, and key-changes. However, […]

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requiem for summer

Nov 1, 2013 roberto santiago: requiem for summer Papí playing dominoes with the other fathers. Mamí and the other women swapping bochinche for recipes and “remember when” stories. As a little Puerto Rican Boy growing up in the Bronx there were several traditions that the summer sun inspired: My bike and the closed-to-traffic Concourse stretching […]

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the poet blonde

Oct 30, 2013 roberto santiago: the poet blonde (for Norma Jean) “Keep the balloon, and dare not to worry,” Marilyn journaled in the greyed scrape of lead beside a plume of red balloons. Maybe she wanted to explain nuclear war. The balloons must be a clue. The way they mocked the page much in the way […]

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because i see you in the rain

Oct 28, 2013 4 roberto santiago: because i see you in the rain. I’ve been looking for you in the syllables of other men. Their humidity raining through skin and linen. This rain greysoaks the concrete-carpetsky the very same silver, scent and sinew as the day you left. I feel the weight of weeks tug […]

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city boy

Oct 26, 2013 roberto santiago: city boy The city should never be confused with the glass and cement used to build it. No, it’s not arteries clogged and taxicab stands, nor is it bike messengers and doormen. The city is the time and spaces between words. Not coupons clipped from drug stores and stored drugs […]

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the littlest spoon

Oct 22, 2013 roberto santiago: the littlest spoon I slow my breath to sonnet. Breaking lines to near-rhyme the rhythm of your own. You’ve been sleeping only a few minutes but hold me just as close as when we were both bathed in whiskeyed-exhales and too many lips. Each time your breath hits that part […]

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sir cherry lane

Oct 16, 2013 2 roberto santiago: sir cherry lane I remember your hands and the taxi driver watching: us pressed up against that brick-wall. I remember the way his hands slithered [unbuckle] as your Garden of Eden Apple-bitten kisses snaked from my lips and neck to my chest and belt [knees buckle]. In that night […]

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