One Month Later
Last night I was with D from high school and we were at a cabin / some place in the woods with lots of little living quarters / connected by pathways / D wanted sex / infatuation / I took her back to my cabin / locked the door / she sat on the dormroom bed with her back against the wall / femme is my type she said / MILFs / I just like pussy / what can I say / now her pale stomach exposed / her animal weakness / narrow and long / like an otter / I reached my palm across her skin / she’d fuck but not kiss / I kept it secret from my boyfriend / D calls me later in the day / I’m riding in a jeep full of people / the phone rings to a sun bleached car stereo / my friends matter so much / my circle
everything in a dream is you one therapist said to me // D represents me // the cabin is me // the sex I can’t remember // the boyfriend I’m hiding it from // the orbit of others // the soft exposure of an underbelly // the hand reaching beyond it // the automatic and anachronistic attachment of voice to speaker // the vehicle for wild terrain // the places I’ve learned // the voices that have all become one // You’re a sneaky poet a friend said to me // just scratching away to produce something unexpected // but what does the cabin represent when its me // as in what do I associate with those wooden structures // and which era of my life does D come from // maybe that’s the wrong question // there’s always a D // oh god how I wished // she wanted to kiss me // I tried to be more mom // in waking life // I tried to appeal to her // as a caretaker // I’m embarrassed to say // how quick am I to deny my reality for another // if in the dream her desire was mine // externalized // and my taking was mine // her exposure mine // and her weakness // how much objectification am I living while awake // not forced from others // that’s a given // but erupting from the self
Sexton Sonnet
In this poem the lodestone is childhood
sexual molestation. From there one
could say I hate Anne Sexton, and the why
would be readily discoverable.
Hate does not feel justifiable though.
Comforting, but not honest or stable;
It’s hot blank hole an RBMK reactor,
full of blindspots——
immortality’s black box.
The Chernobyl reactor exploded
a few weeks before I was born,
and people were forced to poison themselves
to place a coffin over the remains.
This architecture informs the previous lines.
Borges Sonnet
I feel caffeinated. Fucking frustrated.
Time is slipping. My phone screeches a warning:
sandstorm coming. Visibility will
be low. When Borges got to the Sahara
he observed that by touching the sand
he modified the desert. Indelibly
changed it forever. I wish I felt
productive——a lance casting its black shadow
on yellow sand & all that. I know his point
was metaphysical, but was it colored
by his masculinity, by his given
position as maker of reality
rather than made? Where am I in this image,
am I the fingers, the sand, or the alarm?
But who warned them //
a classroom full of nine ten and eleven year old children // Governor Abbott hasn’t seen the pictures // most of us haven’t seen the pictures // not even families // Parents don’t get the choice to go public with photos // because the local District Attorney // Christina Mitchell // denied access // The only thing a surviving classmate can remember is teeth strewn all over the floor // I try to imagine the sound of it // organic enamel against tile // can you hear it // like beads or seashells // clattering // the chambered nautilus is a seashell in decline // threatened by overfishing // due to delight in its natural spiral // nautilus means little sailor // The etymology comes from Greek and Latin // at the same time the word chit comes up for me // chit because of the onomatopoeic sound it provides // a basket of chits falling to the floor // but actually the sound of the word has little to do with meaning // chits are little slips of paper // or the young of an animal // chit from Middle English // chit also from Hindi and Urdu // thank God I think because etymology tends to mean one or two languages // and its getting fucking tiring // like wringing our hands means we wring our hands // did you know there are more guns in the U.S. than people // or that chitin is a structural polysaccharide found in the exoskeletons of crustaceans // also insects and fungi // the chambered nautilus uses chitin and “a number of crystal-forming processes for constructing its hard parts” // Revolution is not a one-time event Audre Lorde said // It is becoming always vigilant // for the smallest opportunity // to make a genuine change in established outgrown responses // like a small turn in a hand woven pattern // to avert the devil // I call my senators, congressmen // tell them to stop supporting genocide // they all send auto-replies // When a population is under siege to an oppressive power Omar El Akkad writes // one of the most dangerous things that population can do is show the body // The town’s only pediatrician // Roy Guerrero // described fourth graders decapitated // the town’s only pediatrician // meaning the doctor that also delivered them // even that young sailor // little survivor alone at sea // floating in a boat made entirely of clenched jaws // Sometimes I think I’m afraid of punctuation // nary a question mark or exclamation point in any of my poems but THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SEVEN OFFICERS! WAITED SEVENTY-SEVEN MINUTES! AS NINETEEN CHILDREN AND TWO TEACHERS! WERE KILLED BY ONE AR-15! Officers don’t owe a duty of care // That’s what the Supreme Court said // not to people // not to children // not to members of a shared community // but how did they get into that position // if not protection and collective care // how many of those officers mistook hands laid on their heads for hair god gave them // and while we’re counting // I wonder how many chambers does the nautilus have // how many the AR-15 // and what of the human heart // while parting my daughter’s hair I run into a cowlick // the spiral pattern seen from above sends her hair straight up // how many children does it take to remember // that every single one of them is ours // and whoever is incapable of recognizing this is incapable of morality // that’s Baldwin // my daughter says she learned that teeth in the back of the mouth are called motors // molars I smile its pronounced molars // is it just the one town of children that are mine // what about the most recent hospital bombing // the Al-Ahli Arab hospital in Gaza City // and if people can’t understand // how do we get around that // because in the recounting // when will we realize // all those lost teeth // mouths open or closed // it’s us who lost them // it is us who lost them // it’s us
Notes on the Poems
“Sexton Sonnet” references Anne Sexton’s “The Ambition Bird”
“Borges Sonnet” references Jorge Luis Borges’ story “The Maker” from Dreamtigers, trans. Mildred Boyer and Harold Morland
“But who warned them//” cites a research article from Paleobiology titled, “Nautilus Hard Parts: A Study of the Mineral and Organic Constituents” by H.A. Lowenstam, W. Traub, and S. Weibe (Spring, 1984), Audre Lorde’s talk “Learning from the 60s,” reprinted in Sister Outsider, James Baldwin’s article “Notes on the House of Bondage” from The Nation (November 1, 1980), and Omar El Akkad’s interview with David Naimon on Between the Covers from February 21, 2025.
Teri Vela (she/her) is a queer latina poet, mother, and former public interest attorney living in Colorado. She is an assistant poetry editor with Split Lip Magazine and a former managing editor for The Seventh Wave. Her publications include Honey Literary Journal, Gordon Square Review, Defunkt Magazine, Troublemaker Firestarter and more. She has an MFA from the low residency program at Warren Wilson College. Teri stands in solidarity with Palestinian liberation. Her current favorite story of revenge is the Guatemalan film La Llorona directed by Jayro Bustamante.
