The illegible ephemera
of your lavish language
has simmered down
to a reduction,
a sticky harness
that holds me here
for now.
But my own words,
clicking like castanets
will work free
catapult me
into the clear.
So go ahead—
deploy sugar
and fire. I will
navigate my way
away.
_
Jennifer Hernandez lives in Minnesota where she teaches immigrant youth and writes poetry, flash, and creative non-fiction. She has been compared to the Incredible Hulk, in that flashes of anger—justified of course—quickly dissipate, and her well-known smile and distinctive laugh return. She shares a home with a portly tuxedo cat, two pandemic pups, between one and three young adult sons, and a long-term husband. She enjoys margaritas, IPAs, Mexican beaches, lake cabins, and Scrabble.
© 2023, Jennifer Hernandez
Halfway Down the Stairs 