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  April 2019
volume 16 number 1
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  featured poets
  Rich Follett
  Dani Raschel Jiménez
  Terry McCarty
  Simon Perchik
  Kevin Ridgeway
  Opalina Salas
  Annette Marie Smith
  Jan Steckel
  Lois Michal Unger
  Amy Uyematsu
  Viola Weinberg
 
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Dani Raschel Jiménez April 2019
   

 

bio


photo by mauricio alejandro ramos

    Dani Raschel Jimenez lives with her family in The Colony now, and while she agrees the name sounds like the city has penal beginnings, it does not. “If I’m to Share” began as an Instagram prompt but she hopes to find the grown-up version a better home. She's recently become a CrossFit nut, but she'll still meet up with you for beer. She's just traded Coronas for Michelob Ultras now.

   

 

If I'm to Share

Kin punishment with Eve, then know
this: The Tree of Knowledge of Good
and Evil was swollen with mangoes
of honeyed flesh. Apologies, dear
Milton, but snake or no snake,
who would empty Eden for apples?

copyright 2019 Dani Raschel Jiménez

   

 

Me and You, April Fool's

We made love on April Fool’s
Day, and you told me as we woke
to the unfurling out of each other’s
arms the next morning, “I thought
you’d be gone. One big joke.”
I laughed. Holding hands, we kissed,
and we kissed again months
later by the ocean. Rolling invocations,
the Gulf of Mexico stretched
out its thick arms, blessing the newly

married couple. Six-and-a-half years later
we kissed for the last time. Unaware.
I want to remember your lips
heavy on my forehead—a benediction
to our failed marriage—but I fear
that’s a lie, and I must contend
with the hundreds upon hundreds

I told you already. This growth pains me.
It’s no joke. I smell leftovers of home
when I smell motor grease on hot hands.
Sometimes, the red in Pearl Jam’s
“Better Man” takes aim, and I feel your arms
curved around me like the moon—maybe—
that night in New Orleans, red shifting
around us as we danced, ignoring
prophetic lyrics. I’m never not folded up in

gowns of memories, all ill-fitting,
one too long, another slit up
past cellulite to hips supporting
emptiness. If only I could stop
ceramic owls from whispering,
“He’d like this.” Stop sugar skulls chanting
your name through square teeth. Stop
memories from drifting in on swells
of a green ocean. Its name? April Fool’s Day.

copyright 2019 Dani Raschel Jiménez