Doors

I flip
pinwheel flip over crimson black sticky fake leather armchairs
Superchica flip onto the badass woven gold and ebony weave sofa
flip, flip, flip ‘til the sofa frame cracks and sinks softer
cartwheel on orange shag protected by clear plastic runner
raise my skinny arms high like an Eastern European pixie, pose in my swimsuit, freak Papi out at dinner time with my spazmotic agility so he makes flipping illegal

NOwhere to flip
so I wait outside
doors
outside Mami’s door as she pretends to listen to Pedro Infante while crying, ear pressed against Carlos’ door and hearing Devo sing, “Boy, am I tired!” inside Luis’ door, peeking at gross porno and weed, en el cuarto de Tía, stealing make-up, hoping she’ll notice me, waiting by the front door for Papi to come home from a conference, ready to perform my latest play or song or puppet show just for him

but I don’t got daddy issues
I got freak issues
I want to explode the doors and walls, paint the house the color of the bloated seaweed woman, lime green, black, orange, silver, purple and blue, I want noise, loud and distorted, Machito, Circle Jerks, Black Sabbath, and Leontyne Price,flipping over and over and over, making the house swirl into stars and foam

flipping is damn illegal, though
so I go
black booted pixie stomping onto buses where mangy men who have been thrown out the house give her wishful money, pull their pants down in public and watch as she leaves them pathetic

spiky shy girl wondering where her freakflipland is, and maybe it’s the concert with all the lookalikes, or maybe it’s the club with all the sweeeet music, and maybe it’s the Keith Haring wall she jacks even though her teacher told her not to go, and maybe it’s the boy who takes her into the forest preserve the boy who she can’t even be brave enough to talk to, and maybe it’s the paint and markers she can only buy with saved lunch money, or blue blue blue windows in the red room at the museum that ignores her, and maybe there’s a door somewhere that tears open into a furry place of teeth and nails and sugar that sounds like the moment when her leg moves at exactly the same time the record spins into a new beat and she is liquid music and strobe light and vibration and flips and flips and flips and there is nothing illegal about it and she is right to search for this door

This is what she does
This is what I did
This is what I do
I look for doors