Sirena Poem


Part 2 (Yesterday)

3 a.m. and I’ve sent a sirena
to her second death.
Into a jillion little pieces
I shattered la pobre, and
all I could do was run.

I ran to LA and
to Revolución, and from Tijuana
I ran to the Gulf
of Mexico, though my feet
never left the room
where I’d clumsily bumped the comoda
on which the unsuspecting sirena had posed.

I dropped her to the floor;
Ran for la frontera—
Of all places to run.

I don’t have eyes
in the back of my skull.
I knew she was falling, nonetheless.
Could see it happening.
I know she was destined for death again.
Pedacitos. Regalitos.
And what could I do but allow these eulogies
Like waters to fill the girth of my hands?