cRaZy cOyOtE & Other Poems

féi hernandez

cRaZy cOyOtE

sTrOnG SnOuT AnD SlAnTeD YeLlOw eYeS,
mY FaThEr cOwErS In aN AmErIcAn jAiL
fOr cRoSsInG FiFtEeN PeOpLe oVeR.

pApI HaS BeEn dEpOrTeD.
PaPi hAs lEaD A HuNgRy lIfE,
hAs lEd a sUn sCoRcHeD PeOpLe
AcRoSs tHe dEsErT To fReEdOm.

hIs hAnDs cLaW ThE EaRtH WhEn tHe tErRaIn cHaNgEs,
HoWlS At tHe gRiNgOs wHeN
hIs fEeT MaP DoNt wOrK, hIs tHiRsT KeEn, HiS WaGgInG TaIl
eXcItEd fOr mOrE.

“i dId iT AgAiN—”

eVeN WhEn hIs rIbS LiNe hIs tOrSo,
He sAvOrS ThE WiNd lIkE sPiCy CaNdY,

lIsTeNs tO ThE FoUr dIrEcTiOnS AgAiN,
wHeN HiS FeEt fAiL To fInD NoRtH,

“aLl lIkE My áPa tAuGhT Me—
AnD HoW Im tEaChInG YoU NoW.”

hE KnOwS WhIcH CaRs bEg tO Be sToLeN,
Be uSeD As a vEhIcLe fOr aN AmErIcAn
DrEaM. “DeSpUeS De cRuZaR
lA FrOnTeRa wE HaD A VaN ReAdY FoR Us tO SnEaK InTo—”

rOaD RuNnErS ArE EaSy lUnCh.
“MiJo—ThE RuSh oF GiViNg oThErS WhAt i dOnT HaVe—”

hE ShAkEs hIs hEaD WiTh a gRiN So wIdE
hE HaS To hIdE It WiTh ThE tIlT oF hIs SoMbReRo.

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A Good American Citizen Child of Immigrants

Eddy belongs to the scar on his temple,
the sheer pearl of its light

born from the unraveled chain link fence
he fell into.

He belongs to the women who flock
to him like pigeons,

kiss his lightning after he braves his tales,
breaks their hearts soon after.

Eddy belongs to Spruce and Walnut Street,
belongs to the red eyed boys on the block

who wear long shorts, knee high
socks, and slides who buy anything

he’s selling to be en-lightened.
Eddy belongs to things of radiance: street

handshakes, silver chains, pierced lips,
red and blue cop lights, head nods, running.

Eddy is a vago with a big heart and a mission,
has a way of drawing negative attention to him,

always away from those in hiding.

Eddy tells me he can’t love me the same way I love him

cuz he
belongs to his brother, an undocumented

Aztec warrior, zigzagging Inglewood,
wide eyed,

tryna to petal as fast as he can from
the darkness that follows him—

doesn’t let him get home to tuck
his daughter into bed.

I never understood how love
could be measured in light, until now.

We are adults and Eddy still
slithers jokes

through his crooked teeth,
cracks everyone’s darkness, surrounds

everyone in unwavering light. But his brother
        and I                are still afraid of too much light.

This is not a judgement, it is Eddy’s
determination with light,

The way he bends it, twists it for more,
points it to those who deserve it,

how he will force himself
to smile through blood streaking

down his face after falling
into a chain linked fence

to make it easier on his (undocumented) family,

light
er

for those he loves who are still in the shadows.
In otherwords, here is a child of undocumented

immigrants, a light manipulator,
bringing light where light should never have existed.

How full and selfless his reservoir of illumination.

When he said he couldn’t love me
what he meant was,

My family needs my light and I can’t share it no more
even though I know you need it too.

The pigeon women in my sheets
are easy, and I have to do my best to not be

“Inglewood’s Eddy”, get wrapped up with pigs
and all that, anything but that.

What he meant was,

I have to point my flashlight into my brother’s eyes
to make sure he’s still                breathing.

What he meant was,
I have to shatter my

love for you, Fat Boy,

To let the light
break out of me

so my family doesn’t have to pay the
light bill.

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TSA Can’t Help But Touch the Deer