the thing about salsa
is that you never quite meet each other,
a practice in avoidance,
in averting your gaze,
in damming it all up tight and never opening your mouth and i think my family
has lived like this.
and i think i refuse their inheritance
and, even when i scream,
i think i like the quiet,
and i think this is okay.
when i was little i loved to dance,
until someone—tío, titi, una prima, mi hermana—
(i really couldn’t say)
told me i was doing it wrong
was too much in my own head,
so now i wait til midnight
when the house is asleep and unsuspecting
and i put in my headphones
crank up celia cruz
and dance with myself.
y ay mamá,
ay papá,
you wouldn’t believe how i dance.
–
n.l. rivera is a queer Latino writer from New Jersey. Their work has appeared/is forthcoming in Bullshit Lit, beestung, The B’K, and elsewhere. Someday they’ll develop a strong sense of identity, but until then, they plan to keep writing poetry. He lurks on Twitter @nl_riversss and Instagram @n.l.riversss.