Concepts of Desire: a poem by artist Rebeca Abidaíl Flores
I first met Rebeca back in 2018 when we were both starting our MFA in San Francisco. Both in the fiction track of the program, we wound up sitting at the same table during orientation. Back then, she had blue-green hair, and I had red.
Fast forward to 2024, we’re both dipping our toes into poetry and play…and we’ve both made our way back to our natural hair colors.
Getting to know Rebeca over the past few years and getting to the chance to read her work has been incredible. She’s a double Sagittarius (sun and moon!) who has a way of dropping you right into the setting and characters’ lives where you feel like you are there.
Last fall I started sharing works by other writers that explore sexuality and gender in some way, and I am so excited that the newest addition to these curated works is a poem by Rebeca.
Called Concepts of Desire, this piece combines poetry with photography. It drop us right into a conversation between some galaxies and then takes us on an exploration of desire.
There are so many lines that have been running through my head since I first read this poem, and I am so grateful be able to read Rebeca’s work and to share it with you all. I hope that it resonates with you in some way.
You can read the poem & her answers to the interview questions down below.
Concepts of Desire
by Rebeca Abidaíl Flores
Part 1: Your need for someone is a shape in your mind
I had a dream that I was a camera watching the Milky Way galaxy collide with the Andromeda galaxy.
Milky Way opens arms and stretches to reach Andromeda. A shower of constellations being pulled together by gravity.
As they approach each other, Andromeda looks terrified.
“I don’t want to give up any stars.”
“Nothing will be lost,” says Milky Way.
At the horizon of their merge, the two magnets pull closer to each other.
The black hole inside Andromeda feels lighter with every pull.
Inside the Milky Way, earth is resistant.
Now, for the merging of stars
Circle fitting circles
Union—creation.
Milky Way says, “Holding will be tender.”
Gravity pulls them closer and together two galaxies can be seen from earth. The humans look up at the sky and see the spirals of Andromeda and call it reason. The sugar powered line of Milky Way stars smile at the complexity.
Andromeda dances, “The 5 billion years it took to be this close.”
The camera went dark.
Part 2: Atoms coming together to prove a theory
I have hands made out of manteca,
By nature, born a clumsy person.
I remember teaching a class,
Mid writing at the white board
The expo marker slipped out of my hands.
I'll be walking with friends, on a hike through a park,
or smoking a joint on a bench
or even just sitting on the grass
holding water
and out of nowhere it just falls right out
from under me
into this
across from
Two months ago,
I was drinking coffee at work
and in between reaching for the cup and moving
the computer out of the way
coffee spilled everywhere.
The standing desks
we use are operated by this tiny little black motor
we had to go under,
unscrew the switch board
and sink it in rice and wait for it to dry.
I don't know if it worked.
I mean, yeah the standing desk is fine now but still,
sometimes, I'll be sitting down and
a small drop of coffee
will drip down into my shoe
my lap
I lay on the floor
Plllllllloooooppppppp
under the motor
Plllllllloooooppppppp
face up, mouth gapped open
Plllllllloooooppppppp
waiting for
this thirst
I'm just trying to say that being clumsy
is such a big part of my days
To have a pot of rice ready to go
just incase I'm hungry
and need draining.
Waited the minutes.
Counted the hours
when the days passed
and the standing desk did
come back to life
move on
Weeks later, I dodged my next spill.
No I should tell you the truth,
Something inside me spilled.
Because the next disaster missed me
Like some matrix type shit.
The next spill went across my face, it saw me standing in
Space and it flew by so close that my eyes almost blinked it true
There was an incredible carpenter in town
And on a boring Sunday afternoon
I was invited to visit a garden
Filled with flowers made of wood
We spent hours roaming and wandering on about
Scaffolding, carving, technique,
How can you place happiness here with a knife
And is it possible to dream it alive:
How much math do you have to reason with to create?
Is it okay if I choose to be anything
When the sun beat down
I used the water hose to fill my bottle
I took a sip
Followed by an invitation to sit
Making sense
Talking about
Layers of self to create color
I place my water
bottle down
In between
Wide open
Of course
When human reaches
For the bottle
The sentence you say to me
is preventative,
"Careful, wouldn’t want it to spill"
Like it was string theory
Vibrating to be near
Falling because gravity pull
Was looking out
For each other.
Part 3: No, they’re not your soul mate this is just the first time you’re experiencing desire. Like sun on your face warmth Like walking in a cold brisk air Getting ready to teeth chatter yourself to death Sun on your face warmth like Under your hands when you hold it, Burning sun In between where the bookstore And the moment when I could smell you, sweet, salty, clean Desire like if I pretend to read this Dusty book, I could stay Desire like you Continue your path without me. Desire is dancing sweaty bodies into forgetting Into wanting to be drenched so hard it Masks the sent You left in my sweater Desire is coming home at 3 o'clock in the morning Showering the feet pain away Laying on my bed flat wet hair dripping into my ears, desire like imagining I could smell you and desire like falling asleep to dreaming. I don’t think I’m romantic anymore Desire like you all know I'm lying, and I'm not that kind of story teller. Walking face turned to the sun, remembering this Piece of warmth will bring me to Here Will Holding be burning? Leave it here anyway I don’t know how to make desire go away. How do I make myself so small that I never want anything again? How can I come to remember The self wants to say, "Thank you sooo much for this tiny box you’ve given me to be a fraction of my joy.” Body yearns for a mathematical Equation to create closeness "No maybe if I give up this part of liking this attitude it will free me from ever wanting.” I sound stupid I try and say the feeling, "How can I refrain with you?" “Can you listen?” I will read to you a poem on universes, Simple voids. Remember to stay calm I want to touch your hand so often, The ridges are routes I follow you into sleep I’m too lonely to theorize the distance between kisses Instead — Let’s meet hovering over the soul of trees growing Flying over overpasses like the freeways don’t mean war Like the sprinkled stars are over us, and yes there is no death Desire like living so close to home, I want not to go So, finally, when the AI gods come to collect my body for labor After My parents have withered in the fields Because the orange huddle is just too heavy I carry it Bring sugar incase its bitter Because I know The juice is water Sweetness is something Felt on taste buds like peace. I desire orange juice Squeezed into my jar, can I come close to your body like church? Is there an ear to listen to the sound of your hair bouncing in otter space, Of moons orbiting around our joining smiles Desire like I finally did it I learned how to listen to the little girl I live with inside my brain. She’s so nice. So funny So angry And I give her juice Because I know she needs it. And I've finally learned how to stop interrupting her train of thought I let her run my life now. I'm happiest dreaming — In the Andromeda Galaxy, The spiral Expanding, Our visible Neighbor to our Milky Way home The past can live there — When in memory I see her half naked on concrete stairs Making out with a boy because she believes this is desire, I watch Quietly No, not judgmental I have no skin inside the past Before she disappears I do the work of picking her up I put a sweater over her “Cariño this is not desire This is violence.” Earth lives In the Milky Way Deep breath I am here It was really hard not to tell her about the rice bucket. Triangle It was hard to explain that planning the exit before entering is… Circle Not my direction for living. Shape I know that: Will you, I prove, I can see, I try, no I do not shrink Are you hearing?
Part 4: How to determine the distance to other galaxies
1. Pour into light it wishes to stay
2. Calculate the pain to find joy
3. Estimate breaks for breathing
This is how I telescope the color of light. 
1. What inspired this poem?
I've been taking a lot of walks recently. Using my break time at work to go on a mid day adventure to clear my head and regroup with myself. While I'm on my walks I've been talking to myself. Listening to my inner child, letting myself for the first time in my life freely feel. So this poem is inspired by that work I've been doing and how talking to myself has helped me reframe my world and I'm trying hard to create a space for myself inside my-self, if that makes sense.
2. Growing up, what kind of messages did you receive about desire, especially sexual desire, from the world around you (I.e. your parents, peers, the media, the church, etc.)?
Oooh, good question. I grew up thinking shame was something I needed to carry and trying hard to follow the rules. My name is Rebeca and I remember that some people at church gave me this nickname "rebel" because of how I would act. I remember always feeling confused because to me, I was never acting out of line I was exploring, and because of that I was deemed a rebel. As I grew up though, I realized there was a lot I wasn't supposed to say or feel. I started to believe that my own mind that craved connection and desire, which are very normal things to want as a human, were wrong. That was hard to unlearn because for a long time it felt like I had to give up being an organic human and this idea that if I didn't try hard to fight myself, I would go to hell. Crazy to believe that being who you are is wrong. I'm working on that --unlearning shame. So the message I want to follow now is that I'm not in any danger. Living is experiencing and there's nothing wrong with me.
3. I love the way that space is woven into the different sections. What drew you to make this connection between space and desire?
My interest in space is a pure magical one. Even though I know it's scientific and mathematical, space to me feels like this playful world and desire is exactly that too. It's a playful space you want to take part in with another human so connecting the two inside a conversation I'm having with myself felt like it gave the poem permission to be constantly building on itself.
4. There’s a really powerful moment in the third section where the speaker interacts with her younger self — giving her juice, putting a sweater over her, speaking to her. Can you share more about this moment in the poem and why it was important for you to include?
That moment is the work of two things. First, that part is the most honest the poem is to my real life, it's the tangible inner child work I've been doing. I included it because I think the speaker of the poem is trying to define something that is forever changing, their desire. Desire to dream. Desire to love. Desire to be touched. Desire to be held. Desire to be honest. Second, as the writer, I thought, "If I include this moment it will answer the big question I propose, which is the line, 'will holding be burning?' So inside my head, it's a good answer. As if to say, 'I will begin to hold myself first' and let the rest grow from there.
5. In this poem, the narrator is actively trying to understand her desire and to nourish this desiring self. Why do you think it’s so important for people, especially those who have been socialized as women and those with marginalized identities, to take time to explore what they actually want?
I read something once that went something like, "Don't you dare let a society that makes billions of dollars a year on makeup, make you feel bad about the way you look." Let's reframe that under a male dominated society. "Don't you dare let a society that profits off the labor of women, make you feel like you're not enough.”
Author Bio
Rebeca Abidaíl Flores (she/her) is a Salvadoreña and Mexican American artist from Fresno, CA. She writes stories and makes large scale sculptures.
You can find her short stories and more of her work at: https://floresrebeca.com
A big part of why I’ve created this newsletter is to help us all feel a little less alone in the world when it comes to sexuality, and I think seeing and hearing stories that resonate with our own life experiences in some way can go a long way in relieving the shame we might feel about this part of ourselves. I am so honored to have the opportunity to have been able to share Rebeca’s work on here.
Thank you all for being here! If you liked this piece, please click the ❤️(it helps more readers find the work), leave a comment, or even share it/restack it on Notes.
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