Observing this Body

by Luis Lopez-Maldonado

I sometimes can’t really feel feel, my feet
the tingling sensation like the white noise on an 80’s TV,
I sometimes find little marble-sized balls
beneath my brown skin, I push on them, and they hurt

doctor says they aren’t cancerous they’re just fat
and if they grow and hurt really hurt hurt,
then she can remove them scars and all:
I roll my eyes quietly and smile reassuring her
that yes sir whatever you say,

but my red relies on fear and my fear doesn’t understand
why my tummy bloats even on cold days,
why my triglycerides are increasing without permission
and why the mirrors are telling me I’m becoming
an amalgamation of both mi papa y mi mama,

you know, I sometimes I drag myself out of bed thinking
is all of this already starting to rot starting to decay itself
like bad poetry like a burnt tortilla? Porque I be feeling
like I’m 80 like my abuelita smelling of Vaporu and Talco:
but then I remember, if Frida did not need her feet
then neither do I.