The Weekly Croissant: Sacrificial Leaves

A Poem

Sacrificial Leaves

In Miami, I see mangrove trees 
Their wicked-witch roots
Drawing up thick seawater, 
Bullying unwanted brine
into their outermost leaves, 
Which turn yellow, and then red, 
Dropping to die gently 
on the ocean’s surface 

It’s the closest we get to Fall here
A local tells me, 
the words dancing from her smile, 
Rounding cornered consonants,
She laughs and points to how

The pelicans conglomerate
Painting patches of white shit
On the sides of green islands
Unrelentingly inquisitive 
With their resting beak faces

In Little Havana, I run past
A humble house with a lightbox,
Containing a life-size statue of Jesus
He stares at me from
Behind a birthday party tent--
Reminding me of my sins, still chasing me 
Reminding me that I shouldn’t be here.
A woman, running alone in the dark 

Later, at a small roadside cafe
I order late night café con leche,
drink beside a handwritten sign 
Se necesita ayuda
Above it, beyond help, 
a pixelated picture of a pig carcass
Splayed out over a family barbeque

The waitress smiles, calls me corazon
I stutter and stammer out
A blushing reply, 
her sweetness occurring to me later,
In the delay of translation
Solo quiero pagar, por favor

A resigned cheerfulness
Laughing despite --
Is a baseline here
As is the perfect weather,
Brown skin, 
And the infinite color
ROY G BIV layering
Every city surface

And I too, am cheerful for a moment,
For a few days
Allowing my tightly packed thoughts
To unclench, like fists opening to palms
Understanding that worry, like salt
Can be pushed to the very edges of one's mind
And allowed to crumble 
into the vast, blue-brown water