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Cover illustration: Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné
Layout & Design: Jayoung Hong
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Happy, Okay?: Poems about Anxiety, Depression, Hope, & Survival
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication number: 2019948828
ISBN: (p) 978-1-64250-136-0 (e) 978-1-64250-137-7
BISAC category code POETRY / Subjects & Themes / Death, Grief, Loss
Printed in the United States of America
To my husband Thomas,
I love the woman I am with you
Paloma, José Armando’s lover
José Armando, Paloma’s lover
Shadow, a shadowy character
Part I
Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy
José Armando
It’s 75 degrees
at the Metrorail station
in Hialeah,
where girls wait
to be whisked away
in shorts, tank tops
& sandals,
in the South Florida breeze
that rustles their hair.
Others stand
in leather boots & winter
coats—furry
& smooth & clean.
At the mom-&-pop
pancake place,
they will order
in Spanish, Creole,
& Jamaican patois. They
will want French
baguettes, cortaditos
& café-crème.
In the afternoon,
the sky will darken
& someone
with an umbrella
will suggest
a trip to El Rinconcito
on 56th Street.
Paloma,
by the time
I head home,
through the corridors
between the botanica
& the Catholic
store, it will be hot
again—because
Hialeah is very
temperamental.
A bit like you.
Shadow
The faces around you
are unfamiliar, but
the longer you stare,
the less they are
strangers—
your brown eyes / brown
skin in other bodies,
walking the same
streets you’ve walked since
your feet learned
to hold your body upright.
The shoeshine men set up
a high chair & a table
in front of a café,
which smells of
sweet rolls &
beef patties behind
its closed
doors. They play
dominoes,
their faces frowning,
but a smile
only inches away.
Hands slap
knees when laughter
erupts—volcanic,
stretching
their cheeks under
straw hats.
This new Miami day
is buoyant
like yeasty Cuban bread.
But you’ve forgotten
the rich, full-throated
sound of your own
laughter.
You’ve buried it so deep
it resides in your
empty belly
and cannot escape
beyond your throat.
Paloma
I am leaving you,
& in the apartment we shared,
there is nothing left
on the walls
but nails
that held
our engagement
pictures. My bottles
of French perfume
have been packed
away,
leaving their dusty
shapes
on the vanity.
Where the radio used
to sit on the bookshelf,
there’s a gap,