I’m Sorry, I Thought You Were Your Mother

after Ocean Vuong

if you don’t understand the joke then perfecting

your american laugh if not catching

the reference then writing it down to google it

later if not beautiful, then something they can hear

through the walls if a bad cook, then hungry

for something else. if an ugly scar, then story

to tell over & over again

if not pretty! if not hermosa! if not preciosa!

if not muñeca! then at least funny.

then just like your father, i guess then juggling

eggs & balancing your passport on your nose

then tripping & letting the eggs crash

around you then not blaming your

clumsiness but the world, sitting down

with her smooth ivory leg stuck out, waiting

for you. if not ay carajo, then shit. if not in love

then discounted, 24-hour loneliness

that comes with an application

wand. if not satisfied, then a minute before

the alarm, if not happy, then whatever

you’ve pinned to the fridge & if their mouths

are not open. if their throats are not full of spit

if no one is laughing then taking yourself home

you—niñita lotioning up stretch marks

that don’t have memories yet. patoja

with report cards for eyelashes. hija afraid

of having hijas. girl rolling her sentences

together & gluing them to her face to make

the perfect mustache girl twirling the mustache

& saying, “ah, yes, my darling, ha-ha,”

girl cleaning up her mess before it spills

out of her eyes, tying wires around her body,

attaching tin cans to the ends, holding them

out to the air, trying to find someone

who will listen.

hey! girl of the rebuilt kitchen

of the windexed reflection

girl with the bent glasses!

girl looking in a different mirror!

girl not letting herself go! girl letting herself stay.

who are you fooling, they just have to take

one look at you

to know where you came from.