Concerning the Necropolitical Landscape

Dear Mother // I apologize for these instructions regarding
my belated death // but police keep pestering parents on

where to shake their child’s ashes // fuck that // Dance &
laugh my ashes into the volcanoes [volcanoes look like Earth’s

pimples // about to burst] Dear Mother // I hope neither of
us dies but rather // we drift into alzheimers together like

Abuela years ago // We can walk out of the house in our
bathrobes // waving at police cars & thinking they’re taxis

taking fathers home // Dear Mother I haven’t told you but
bombs in Chelsea were so close to me last fall // I fell &

prayed to Holy Nuns of the Erectile Dysfunction Committee
but still // I’ll never understand why // God made something

so beautiful as the sun // on the ridge // to be blinding
Dear Mother // I’ve been much too slow to say thank you

The word twisted on my tongue // I stutter to say th-thanks!!
& maybe it’s my accent // unable to pronounce refrigrator

En español // refrigerador // As if our language was a child
who wet the bed from being tickled too much // & if we only

speak one language // can we name her Joy // Dear Mother
I’ve read the credit report // & America fiscally sponsored the

Civil War in El Salvador // where men had genitals cut off
stuffed into their mouths // their heads decapitated & placed

between their legs // Tio saw all his friends // students slumped
on chain link fences // after marching outside the university

As a child // I never thought how difficult it must’ve been to
pick the heads of daisies with me // by the swimming pool

Each petal pulled // I’d recite // he loves me // he loves me not
God must // in the most bloated nights // the fullest nights

God must’ve known // you’d follow me outside “heaven’s gates”
What an oxymoron // There must be a heaven that’s boundless &

unbridled // where we can seek asylum // Dear Mother // please
teach me how to hold the sorrow // without losing my arms

More Poems by Christopher Soto