Pablo Neruda wrote one hundred sonnets for the woman he called “Medusa,” & I thought my curly hair could be his refuge, too.

Ernesto Guevara sold a piece of Chichina’s jewelry and I wanted to offer him the pair of pearl studs my dad bought me at the jeweler in the pentagon, each one the size of a molar.

Every page you turn in This is How You Lose Her tastes like tears. I wanted to kiss Junot Diaz’s ocean salt cheeks and tell him he wasn’t beyond grace. I named a playlist Yunior De Las Casas & sent it to another cheater I loved.

Like Frida for Diego, with many of the men I have loved, no humiliation was too final. I could infinitely tear honeycomb from the pit of my soul; they always came back clawing, ripping, & ravenous.

I loved the first Ramon Lluveras even when his infidelity put the most holy Canda Gomez in a psyche ward.

& I love the next Ramon Lluveras in spite of how my mother still feels betrayed a decade later.

& I have loved the last Ramon Lluveras over all the years when different girlfriends’ eyes pleaded with me, “am I not enough?”