Three Poems
BIO
Elena Ramirez-Gorski is a Chicana writer from Adrian, Michigan. She is currently an undergraduate at the University of Michigan studying Creative Writing and Literature as well as Latina/o Studies. She has work forthcoming in Split Lip Magazine and These Poems Are Not What They Seem, an anthology of Twin Peaks poetry by APEP Publications.
Twitter: @ERamirezGorski
Piojosa
It’s hard to forget the sound of a louse
exoskeleton cracking between your
thumb nails and gushing its blood/
your blood so brazenly over your palm.
My abuelito says that you aren’t really
Mexican-American until you’ve had piojos.
My mother says you aren’t really
Mexican-American until you can’t get rid of piojos.
You aren’t until you are baking and melting the
synthetic fibers of your favorite sweaters in the dryer,
or sleeping with a scalp smothered in mayonnaise
or olive oil or vinegar, or until
you can’t tell if you are killing the pests
or marinating them to perfection.
You aren’t really Mexican-American
until you’ve given up and love the beast
that’s sucking you dry.
This is for the goth latina bitches
my spooky chicas always dye
their hair from natural
black to unnatural black
their grandmas wouldn’t let them read
harry potter because no vas a traer that diablo
mierda en this house, pendeja
the chicas who love their brown skin but
resent that they’ll never rock vampire makeup
the ones who cut their bangs too short
over the bathroom sink
before a show
who are teased for listening
to that white people music
but just roll their eyes and remind themselves of
alice bag, the plugz, los illegals,
y que no hay nada más chicana de ser una punk
the girls cursed to fall for white boys
with veiny arms and druggy eyes
who leave the family parties
asking why they have to be so loud
las punks, las locas,
las brujas, las darketas,
las ‘otras’
the girls who fashion their own
ouija boards from cardboard and
scotch tape, and sit around it
motionless all night,
too badly wanting to believe
they aren’t alone
Miss America
“When these southern whites see these
pretty Mexican girls, they become excited —
they are not used to girls so pretty.”
-Eyewitness on the Zoot Suit Riots
My mom was 16
when her boss’s khakis fell to his ankles
in the Domino’s freezer
waiting for her with a smile
to see her shocked & scared,
waiting to say ‘don’t be.’
He had seen her
thick Selena lips
& J-Lo hips.
He’d heard about girls like her.
My sister was 15
when a rusted pickup followed her
all the way home,
whistling,
dreaming out loud
of fistfuls
of her long dark hair.
My cousin was 12
when her body was found
naked & hollow in a ditch.
The whole city
sighed,
said she was always
too pretty.
They engraved Miss America onto her headstone.