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
...

Mornings I still
reach for you before
opening my eyes.
...

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

Fifty cents apiece
To eat our lunch
We'd run
...

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
...

Because I miss
you I run my hand
along the flat of my thigh
...