Elizabeth Acevedo

A truth
you did not want
to know
can rot & grow mold
in the pit
of your stomach,
can sour
every taste
you’ve ever had,
can cast a stench
so bad you forget
you’ve ever known
a sweet thing.

She tells me words give people permission
to be their fullest self. And aren’t these the poems
I’ve most needed to hear?

“I’ll never be as good of a poet as you, Poet X,
and I believe you’re strong enough
to defend yourself and me at the same time,
but I’ll always have your back,

Dancing is a good way
to tell someone you love them.”
I catch Mami’s eyes in the doorway
of the living room; she smiles at me and says:
“Pa’lante, Xiomara.
Que para atrás ni para coger impulso.”
And she’s absolutely right,
there will be no more backward steps.
And so I smile at them both
and step forward

I once heard a rumor

that goldfish have an evolutionary gene

where they’ll only develop as big as the tank they’re put into.

They need space to stretch. And I wonder if

Twin and I are keeping each other small.

Taking up the space that would have let the other grow.

When your body takes up more room than your voice

you are always the target of well-aimed rumors,

Maybe because I can’t keep the billboard frown off my face,

the one that announces I’d rather be anywhere but here.

Like she’s used to shouldering her way

through any assumptions made about her.

And the poem was actually for you.

I thought it would be cathartic

to write something beautiful for yourself.”

Like we saw and were seen.

And how crazy would it be

if I did that for someone else?