National Poetry Month Day 7: Carlos Andrés Gómez



Carlos Andrés Gómez is a poet from New York City and a graduate of the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. Winner of the Lucille Clifton Poetry Prize, a finalist for the Gregory O’Donoghue International Poetry Prize, and a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee, his work has appeared in the North American Review, Rattle, Beloit Poetry Journal, Smartish Pace, and elsewhere. For more, please visit


When Our Black Son Arrives

I will go back to my superstitions:
everything in threes, silent prayers,

rubber bands on wrists. A blood moon
will arrive the night before. The road

will lead us towards land flanked
by water on all sides, a formation

of fluttering magpies keeping guard
beneath steel beams. I will convince

myself I am not my father. I will call
my father and ask for advice. His voice

will echo on a three-second delay
as if from another realm. I will make

sure to stop cursing, no excuses,
I will work on my temper, ask

protection from gods I have
never believed in. Our homes will

get bigger but somehow, each day, feel
smaller. I will watch him resent my

jawline and admire my backbone, teach
him to tuck his elbow in on free throws.

I will wait by the door the first time
he takes the car out by himself. I will

have nothing to offer the stoic
night but clasped hands. And then,

I will wait. I will sit beside the front
door and wait.

Original poetry published by The Rumpus. More from this author →