science fiction fiction

science fiction fiction is a book about color photography in Miami-Dade county prior to smartphones, and it examines the conceptual and material intersections of photography and poetry. The book highlights the stigma of depression in Latinx families at the turn of the century, and is also a letter to my friends and to anyone who thought "There goes Madonna" whenever they saw a limousine on US1.

NOKIA

What am I always saying
in the dark
when we have no axel no spare
everyone’s a star
is what I’m always saying

I’m always saying
that I love you
in different ways for one
is saying that I love you
and googling am I saying that
I love you
enough no

one thought this was going to be historic
the Nokias and no keys
differentiated like they all
got you into all
of the Honda Civics

some one stole one part
by part wheel by wheel y claxon from
M’s front yard in
Palmetto Bay and dropped it

in possessions in gifts you give me I give them
to others to show you and by you
I mean myself that I don’t have to have
things I can have them in the hand
of another person and keep
myself intact to the trunk
of my Accord holding the things
I cannot carry

under the peacock park boardwalk
we walk over to smoke
its humid hand over my face and over it
the hand and the Honda
or the Ford Escort and the dog
of a friend who said care for it
while I am away                I walked from it
to its binary, grey and choppy and now

a commencement program
or is it a hymnal
now a question in the morning
did you

pass me on Ives Dairy
what am I always saying
did you walk in as I’d walked out did I
as you’d walked in in
the gale force
in the Crossfire what am I
always saying why am

I stranded in Hollywood
in the distance
from A to BFE
that distance crossed and not
deliberated
that distance made that defies
being seen

Jon w/ no h

Emily loses her mind at the Suniland Denny’s when Jon w/ no h appears with a new girlfriend & orders two Grand Slams. Three tables away our classmates in student government turn around to stare, it’s Stacey Pratt with the ponytail & Josh.

FUCK YOU JON! shouts Emily.

It’s November and Emily returns from school with shorter hair and more makeup. I make sandwiches and eat them between classes behind the university library, where the lake is and the ducks that bother you. R calls them “cancer ducks” because of the red stuff on their faces. R calls everything something. He drives me everywhere playing opera on a cassette tape connected umbilically to a discman. I am always thinking about T with the paintings and plants and chihuahuas in his house so I ride around with R like an old woman asking questions without hearing the answers. We drive at night to Jai Alai and bars that don’t card and dim cafeterias where we handle plates cups and spoons. Sometimes we sneak into the lobby of an expensive hotel and play the mini grand. Sometimes we say dreadful things to each other and laugh. In the university we see curly hair guy playing the acoustic guitar in a gazebo out on the grass and we laugh. We laugh at him like we laugh at everything and one day he asks my name and buys me a can of Sprite and I don’t tell R.

Briar Winds

a walk to the Falls
to say goodbye
in front of Origins

between Briarwood and
Cutler Ridge
doing a good
mini cry
in Coral Reef library’s
microfiche corner

let me draw you a map
you know US1? ok
and the big Publix?

a drive to Sunset
to say that’s it
so i can ride my bike
crying to Ludlam
and Miller, erase you
from my Limewire library
& change routes

the Ford hatchback R’s sister sold me for 70 dollars
started smoking on east Flagler.
we pulled into the parking lot of an optical
what a mission

do you want to see something?
no
follow me!

you know Old Cutler Rd? say you’re
there instead of Churchills
you know US1? ok
and the Rooms To Go?

i called Majic 102.7
and won
a steak dinner in Tamarac
for guessing “Herman’s Hermits”

all we ever do
is hurt
and say
that soon we won’t
or that once we didn’t

do you remember being spun in circles
with your eyes closed
i started one day, mid-wicca phase,
in the yard w the sprinklers going
one afternoon post tropical depression
when the clouds had trapped
the light so the world now dry
looked like what we say Mars looks like
and there was someone laughing and saying

AIM Away Message

Each minor spectacle erases me
from where I am going when I am going there
mainly because aiming is a long worried unpacking

I get home. I stop
in front of the brown stoop and think I have to
go up there to the woman and her hound.

That church again
on 30th avenue calls me back: come smoke
on the steps like you are a villain in a movie.

Read the newspaper hold your umbrella
like you are a villain in a movie.
The internet nymphaeum
accumulates the messages

In transit I shake my head I carry
my bag up the brown
steps real heavy like
I have nothing else
to think about just
gravity and how it makes time
longer
before I get up there
to the computer paper
and the woman’s Persian cat
hiding in paisleys
and the stacks of betrayed books
Y la pobre perra,
her teats touching the rug
when she sleeps on her side
I unlatch the door
and she opens her eyes
full of water and light.

 

Photograph: A brown and white dog stands on a patterned rug, looking up at the camera. Their eyes reflect the light of the camera flash.