Self-portrait as St. Joseph
I don't care much about
being remembered. If it happens, it'll happen
by accident, a right-place-right-time sort of thing.
My ideal: to do no harm. I regret
my almost-divorce and those two doves
we brought to the temple.
I listen to my dreams, not
to kings. When my family
comes to strange lands, I try to shield them.
When I wish to be louder or to let
another provide, I think of what I want:
to hold a child in one
arm and lilies in the other. To have nothing
to do with their begetting.
being remembered. If it happens, it'll happen
by accident, a right-place-right-time sort of thing.
My ideal: to do no harm. I regret
my almost-divorce and those two doves
we brought to the temple.
I listen to my dreams, not
to kings. When my family
comes to strange lands, I try to shield them.
When I wish to be louder or to let
another provide, I think of what I want:
to hold a child in one
arm and lilies in the other. To have nothing
to do with their begetting.
September / October, 2022
Monica Colón (she/her/ella) is a Salvadoran/American writer from Texas. Her poems have appeared in or are forthcoming in SWWIM Every Day, Susurrus Magazine, fifth wheel press, and the winnow magazine. She has received a Pushcart Prize nomination and the Iris N. Spencer Sonnet Award from West Chester University Poetry Center.
Art: Madge Evers. For the Birds. Mushroom spores on paper.
