The sonnet is an overstuffed arepa. You
filled it with carne asada, pollo, carnitas,
aguacate, queso, huevo, frijoles, arroz,
lechuga and tomate. It’s bound to fall
apart. The sonnet is a bachata song that
turns into a merengue song that turns
back into a bachata song. It starts slow,
speeds up, ends slow. The sonnet is the
soccer ball your dad gave you for Christmas
that you kicked onto the street and got
crushed by a car. It’s a present you destroy.
The sonnet is the bathroom door of my
abuela’s orange house in Guatemala. No
matter how hard you push, it won’t close.
Alejandro Pérez is a student at Columbia University in New York. He is a 2019 Pushcart Prize nominee whose poems and flash fiction pieces have appeared or are forthcoming in Boulevard, Pacifica Literary Review, DIAGRAM, Blue Earth Review, DIALOGIST, Typehouse Magazine, decomP, and Spanish-language magazines in Venezuela, Chile, and Spain.
Artwork by: Jeremiah Morelli