Dairy Queen in the Dark

The lights go out during homework

Third time this year

My irritation has turned to scolding

She must be high because instead of anger there’s an apology

She rushes for her purse

Fumbles through the pockets

Stacks of receipts fly from her fingertips

She pulls out the $5 bill like it’s a hidden treasure

Ice cream? she nods

We drive to the bayfront

Night waves lap against the sea wall at our feet

Our chocolate dipped cones melt in the humid Corpus air

We scramble to catch the drips with our tongues

You see, She nudges her hip to mine

Isn’t this nice?

Yeah mom, this is nice

Azalea Aguilar is a Chicana poet from Corpus Christi Texas, where the scent of the gulf and memories of childhood linger in her work. Her poetry delves into the complexities of motherhood, the echoes of childhood trauma, and the resilience found in spaces shaped by addiction and survival. She writes to honor the past, give voice to the unspoken, and carve tenderness from the raw edges of experience. Her work has appeared in Angel City Review, The Skinny Poetry Journal and at events hosted by the American Poetry Museum in DC. She is currently crafting her first manuscript, a collection exploring the intersections of love, loss, and lineage.