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by Bailey Cohen Cuando era un niño, I spoke with a softer voice. We all flew so ignorantly of the ground and the muscle tendons in our backs. Like Icarus, I am winged only sometimes. No puedo volar so instead I fall as deliberately as I can. Like a coward, I wish to die in my sleep. To float & then keep floating. To wisp away, leaving nothing but tastes of salt and vanilla. My people have always cared too little of the velocity of burning. Look! Today is so blue and sky-filled! I can almost see your grandmother. Mira! Hijo, tenemos the entire world if we just keep walking a little bit more. I know you want to fly, but can’t you feel the grass between your toes? My son-- té recuerdas the first prayer I ever taught you? How the words would drift through your feathers like wind?  photo by Jessie Coleman Bailey Cohen is a first generation Ecuadorian-American poet studying English Literature, Politics, and Creative Writing as an undergraduate student at New York University. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming in Projector Magazine, The Minetta Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and more. He can be found on Twitter, where he actively shares poems, @BaileyC213. He loves everyone Latinx.
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