IMPOSTER
there was a death
there always is
& a boy with nothing in his pockets
like he needed her
soft skin of grapefruit
a minute & it's just your face
& she can't remember the words
wave a hand
and she moves closer
move it twice
and one is tied down to a cell
imagine pieces
still inside you
homing pigeons half-consumed things
the sweet smell of garbage
women dressed like beach-side catalogues
aqua coral tamarind
you can never forget this
blue and un-fuckable moment
the real of the yellow
with its hooks all in
Erika Moya's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in forklift, Ohio, Spork Press, & elimae among other places. She co-curates the Stain of Poetry reading series in the Bushwick neighborhood of Brooklyn where she resides.
