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56 pages, Paperback
First published July 23, 2012
Find yourself another girl, Elvis advises. He’s holding his daughter gingerly. Clavo saca clavo.
Nothing saca nothing, you reply. No one will ever be like her.
O.K. But find yourself a girl anyway.
His daughter was born that February. He puts her in your arms. Find yourself a good Dominican girl, he says.
You hold the baby uncertainly. Your ex never wanted kids, but toward the end she made you get a sperm test, just in case she decided to change her mind. You put your lips against the baby’s stomach and blow.
Do they even exist? you ask.
You had one, didn’t you?
That you did.
“One of the ex-sucias publishes a poem about you online. It’s called “El Puto.”
"You figure that’s as bad as it gets. You figure wrong. During finals a depression rolls over you, so profound you doubt there is a name for it. It feels like you’re being slowly pincered apart, atom by atom."
'and because you know in your lying cheater's heart that sometimes a start is all we ever get.'