Young Lizard Kings by Ariel Francisco

Under the Florida sun’s stern gaze,

parents too busy

fighting to watch us in the yard,

my brother and I hunt

for lizards in the loquat trees

brimming with mini-suns,

chase them skittering across

the porch or through the tall grass.

If you pinch their tail

it snaps off and they shoot

into the foliage like a bottle rocket.

You have to grab them by the middle

with thumb and forefinger

like a cigarette,

their little mouths open

in rage or fear,

baring tiny harmless teeth at us.

We raise them as though

offering them to the sun

before offering them

our earlobes and lower lip,

letting them clamp down

in rage or fear,

and wear them as living jewelry,

breathing green gems

clinging to our skulls.

We roam the neighborhood

like this:  little deformed Maya deities,

young lizard kings,

our providence adorning our faces,

seeking to remake this world.

Ariel Francisco is the author of the forthcoming All the Places We Love Have Been Left in Ruins (Burrow Press, 2024). He is Assistant Professor of Poetry and Hispanic Studies at Louisiana State University.

1 July 2024