WHAT I LOVE WHAT I HATE smooth jazz I hate my father’s face when he tells me my block is my burden
like my job is to carry a family I didn’t create to somehow erase the blood he left in the street like cursive like my life is for fixing something I didn’t even break
WHAT I LOVE
The way my mother says, “Mijo. Sunday dinner is ready.” and kissed my father gently while I set the table If only we were more like her If only everyone were as gentle and loving The way she looks at us like we’re perfect, though we’re not











