You cradle my hands

Voices echo in my stomach

the smell of onions

from the corner of the room

that burning


You ask about tomorrow

I say Te amo

Begging the question

the splatter of crimson


You grasp my elbow

And I feel it

That noise

La corazón



You are crashing

The language I’m too scared to speak

when the silence is just too loud

Después de muertes—


And I think of you.


My niece

gumming down arroz y frijoles

o frijoles con arroz


My niece

Her name like a battle cry

meaning valiant, pure city


My niece

her face in the cradle of

a neck that isn’t tu madre’s


My body


still at the base of a hill

sprinkled with cuerpos

y despojos mortales.


–Maura Lee Bee

Maura is a queer writer based out of New York City. Her work has been published in the How We See It, More Views of Our World book series, as well as Utopia Parkway, and All in Your Head. Her work has received awards such as the David B. Feinberg Fellowship. She even met Neil Gaiman once outside of a library. When she isn’t busy dismantling an otherwise oppressive system, she enjoys receiving coffee in an IV, baking pies, drinking gin, and meeting new dogs. You can also find her work on Medium and Twitter.

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