I want to appear to you in sandwiches,
water markings on the ceiling,
mold above the toilet,
patterns in woven baskets,
a scatterplot depicting
the correlation between people who
lick their ice cream & people who bite
their ice cream & whether or not they
lie about how many books they’ve read.

I want you to gather strangers around
the image of me because you’ve gotta
make sure it’s me & not a trick
your eyes are playing on you.

& I want the strangers to confirm your vision,
I want them to tell tales about me,
I want endless products in the shape of me
available in delis & on the side of the road,
I want to be the one Abuelita’s light candles beneath
& I want to be the picture on the candle, stretched out
& replicated, I want to be the one who gets daughters
into colleges with full rides,
brings the Go-Fund-Me page to completion,
gets shoved
into the backpack during the big flood,
gets hanged
from doorknobs in new apartments
as a sign of protection, as a sign that
whoever lives there is loved

I want everyone to believe in me eventually
but I want it to be you
who finds me, plain as day,
blooming among the flowers,
shining from the hill,
taking shape everywhere I shouldn’t,
obvious & made of light.