The Poet X

by Elizabeth Acevedo

When your body takes up more room than your voice

I’ve forced my skin just as thick as I am.

try my best to dream.

Your mother will engrave your name on a bracelet, the words Mi Hija on the other side. This will be your favorite gift. This will become a despised shackle.

your father seems to be serving a penance, an oath of solitary silence.

I never told her he didn’t fight because my hands became fists for him. My hands learned how to bleed when other kids tried to make him into a wound.