Cisneros poem

Listening to Joanna Newsom

There is a sacred ribbon
with your voice on it,
and when I imagine
tugging this cinta
back and forth
between my ears,
I am on the floor,
eyes rolled back,
top teeth sticking out
for a grin.

You may make your ribbon
into a clothesline,
if you like,
and I will be your ropa sucia,
hanging as a gentle breeze
blows me
in the direction
of a nearby maizal.