Sandra Cisneros Poems

Before you became a cloud, you were an ocean, roiled and
murmuring like a mouth. You were the shadow of a cloud
crossing over a field of tulips. You were the tears of a
...

You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
...

They say I'm a beast.
And feast on it. When all along
I thought that's what a woman was.
...

That was enough
for me to forgive you.
To spirit a tiger
...

I can't imagine that goofy white woman
with you. Her pink skin on your dark.
Your tongue on hers. I can't
...

We had to cross the street twice
because of rats. But there it was.
The zócalo at night and la Calle de la Moneda
...

You come from that country
where the bitter is more bitter
and the sweet, sweeter.
...

He says he likes Mexico.
Especially all that history.
That's what I understand
...

Arturito, when you were born
the hospital gasped when
they fished you from your fist of sleep,
...

My cousins and I,
we don't marry.
We're too old
...