Poetry Archive

Told mama I forgave her, she said girl, what ever do you mean?

If I took a walk through your garden, 
what would I see?

Told Mama I forgave her, she turned and said,
“Forgive? Girl, what ever do you mean?
‘Tuh. For what could you 
possibly forgive me?!”

It is the first day of month seven and I keep forgettin’
to bring an umbrella every time I step out
Even if I did, I’d probably hold it upside down
the way men tell you to turn frowns
In an effort to catch all the blessings 
                            (angelito manifestations; silver linings courier service)
falling to us from the sky
It is the first day of July

It’s ok, 	Mama, 
                                don’t cry.

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Filed under: Poetry Archive


Ayling Zulema Dominguez (she/they) is a first-generation Chicana-Dominicana from Bronx, New York, with roots in many places. As a poet and creative in an abolitionist mindset, her work has long been the stuff of forging community; of affirming belonging as the first step toward liberation; of imagining new, better, and more radically loving worlds. Knowing that a sense of belonging is counterfactual and ephemeral if we do not work to liberate others, her writing and creative work do not only celebrate joyful resistance, but also push readers to actively oppose systems of oppression. She carries these values into her artistry as a current Laundromat Project Create Change Fellow and Teaching Artist with the International Community High School in South Bronx. Her poems have been featured in Moko Magazine, La Galería, The Protest Review, The Mujerista, 433 Magazine, Latino Rebels, The Bronx Free Press, and Alegria Magazine’s Latinx Poetry Anthology.