Monthly Poem: November

Happy holidays!

Hope your Thanksgiving was as enjoyable as you wanted it to be, whatever that may have looked like.

This poem is near and dear to my heart, especially with specific details I don't mention often in life. Here's hoping you see a bit of yourself in it and feel some semblance of solace. Or it makes you smile a bit. Either way, more about the poem is also at the bottom of the page.

Enjoy!

---

Coquito.

Tonight, we’re going to party like it’s 1999.

The kitchen is filled with nonsequiturs hovering like flies over half a pernil

and various forms of lukewarm platano.

The living room is overpacked with sounds by Antony Santos.

The basement is where the spare television kept all the cool kids occupied.

As our parents tenderized the floorboards

with the stress accumulated from Christmas shopping,

we took a breather.

My kind of party is taking a hard nap

after hitting two inside-the-park home runs in kickball at an away game.

By “at an away game” I mean at my cousin’s house,

the only ones with a grassy backyard, the only ones with a backyard at all,

their lawn didn’t have Corona bottle trimmings to scrape my knees while sliding home.

My kind of party is throwing *NSYNC action figures around like tight spirals of pigskin

while I wait for my turn on the PlayStation.

With hindsight,

that Crash Bandicoot character was like a cousin to me, so relatable,

always running,

from something,

to something,

for no reason I cared to know about in those moments,

I just wanted to be the best at something.

My kind of party is convincing someone to serve me another plate of food

without having to do a dance I made up once

at some other family function.

Before the pressure of being an entertainer drops behind me like a boulder

and chases me back to running,

back to introversion,

back to the sanctity of the cool kids in that basement.

I was born in ‘94,

so partying like it’s 1999 doesn’t have the same parameters as my mom’s party upstairs.

I can’t remember much from those times,

but I do recall my mom smiling

whenever I did.

Knowing that,

I became the best at smiling,

I slid a smile across my face as much as possible,

I carried a full plate of home with me

and started food fights between every rock and a hard place,

I walked around wherever God sent me

as the human version of my mother’s smile.

---

About the poem:

This is potentially the final draft of " Coquito.", The first draft was written on March 20th, 2022.

It's been submitted to a couple of publications and at this point, it seems like its rightful home is in-house. Probably better that way as it contains more personal details than I usually put into a poem.

"Coquito." speaks on having an entertainer's soul as an introvert. I felt it young and didn't know what to think of it. Or how to put it into words. But I always knew I was an introvert, even though I enjoyed making people feel better. Finding a balance can be taxing. The holidays can be taxing. Being alive is taxing. 

Also, shout out to my mom. Been finding ways to tie her into more poetry, as I have done about my late father. Honoring the dead is great, and so is honoring the living and giving flowers while they can still appreciate them. This is not the first poem she's been mentioned, nor will it be the last. Just felt important to note. 

Also x2, this poem's title is both after the Puerto Rican drink, AND coquito was/is my family-given nickname. Being young with a big, hard head was an experience.