“The EPA estimates that roughly 20,000 farm-workers are poisoned every year by pesticides, but because of many

immigrants’ fear of reporting incidents and inability to seek medical care, the number is likely much higher.”



It’s a terrible day for rain.

She showed me why

from stomach to neck.
She told me she was so close to heaven

but the waiting line was still so long.

God has so many forms to fill.
It’s a terrible day for rain.

After a while, even free ice-cream

makes you throw up.
I’m turning into a limón

she laughed – soon I’ll be bursting with citrus,

it’ll burn me up from inside.
In the Garden of Eden

            where nothing decomposes

but nothing blooms either

            how can we make a life for ourselves?
Even the blood moon

            can be sucked to pale

by the endless silver fields.
Don’t you know,

            you’ll never be dead

you’ll just be lighter

            than a seed searching for wind.
Don’t you know,

            angels don’t fly

they claw their way up

            hair by bloody stem.
It’s so warm in here,

so dry.

                       Meanwhile outside,

            it’s a terrible day for rain.
In her dreams

a tree grew from her stomach

as if the roots could feed on marrow

and she laughed because it was not limón

but melocotón that burst open to the sky

and when it rained

it was so cool on her skin

and there was a voice

in the way the drops fell

and it spoke

her name

so clearly so softly