Tomorrow, after yesterday I am Latin-
Dominican woman in America.
Singing a Reggaeton laden lullaby
And it sounds like:
-rent raised four hundred times the minimum wage
-seven hundred times my aunt’s wage.
-of Highland Park street vendors,
-and of Brooklyn bodegas.
Somewhere, on the corner of the world
ten year old women pose in bleach
white wigs and pumps. Peddling
chromosomes and inquiries of tongue.
And out there, the great trans-parent
holds to prayer beads blessing
their pride and burns.
Oh goddess of blow.
Oh spirit of mouth and trade.
Today, I am
mujer of hope.
Raging home, raging state.
I will demand financial
aid, and food stamps with
the cheek I hold my poems in.
Next week, I am bitch woman body
of coal. Burning, even if
they object my name, and call me sweet
I am nothing
and profound fury. I am island scratched
from blues to throat.
Sometimes, I think a father is right.
Most times, I think a lack of presence,
does not entitle an opinion.
I am brown country thunder
brewing, heat wave of me Mami
prim and plotting for expired
To The Urchins
In the beginning, it chose its path in bad faith,
but since has risen more bitter with the sweat of continents
First it fed her appetite for ethos, and used
a lamp post, then drank a little rum.
The uprising of martyrdom. Born of bottom,
from the piss broke parts of town.
A plea for more was a bit much. The pay
was grand. Even when earth’s most ancient
rocks had bled enough to form the raging sea,
she, naked and cold, fed herself to the urchins.
I march parading the days in night.
My legs less than the wings of a fly stalking.
Hips are fine detractors.
So are hums and breath.
I have practiced many things and learned very little.
Mostly of things I don’t like about myself:
Rifle, step, murder, flow, and flutter.
Always as light, heavy through the shadows.
Black and blue, swollen, full of torment.
I’d protest another protest,
but like rebel, I am Child-
Hood terror gone too far.
About Silvia Angulo: Born in the Dominican Republic. Raised in New York. Silvia Angulo went to film school yet found herself cutting classes to attend rallies and Occupy Wall Street where she befriended street artists, leftists, and wrote too many protest poems. She ultimately did graduate with a BFA and moved to California to work in post production, but then quit the industry immediately. She presently works at a non-profit, is back in school for community justice, organizes with Af3irm National, and identifies as a transnational feminist, mujerista, and anarcho-syndicalist. Her writing has appeared in Feminist Wire, Bitch, Haggard & Halloo, La Galeria, Brasilia Review, and Fish Creek Press among others.