Not here, not yet
A moon is going on somewhere
but you wouldn’t trust me
even if it wasn’t cloudy.
I tell you how a rabbit was misplaced
but you are distracted by the horizon
not knowing if it’s upside down
like a skier lost to an avalanche
or the baby you are carrying.
The Mayans sent him there
you must believe me –
It hopped from our lowest star
but you are not listening.
Startled by the palms ruffle,
you murmur a solution
that neither of us want.
Now rain starts as mizzle
and you insist to go back
before it lashes, without waiting
for the rabbit on the moon
or this rain to drapes us
in the comfort of its bosom.
José Buera is a Caribbean/Latinx writer from the Dominican Republic living in London. An alumni of London Library’s Emerging Writers Programme, his poetry has been anthologised and appears in Anthropocene, Berkeley Poetry Review, Ishmael Reed’s Konch, Magma, Propel, Wasafiri, and elsewhere. He has won several prizes, most recently F(r)iction’s poetry prize. José is a member of Nuevo Sol, a UK Latinx poetry collective, and the founder and curator of the Empanada Poetry Salon, a bimonthly gathering of diaspora poets and their foods.