by Melanie Maria Goodreaux

that’s what you get arrived on my snowy doorstep in Vermont via an Amazon delivery. If these were “normal times” I’d have purchased it in person attending whatever bohemian book party the writer deemed fun, ready to hear her read without too much embellishment, true to her “stilo,”  in a warm room filled with other poets and artists of the New York scene, a table of wine and cheese and grapes nearby.  I’ve been a fan of Sheila Maldonado’s poetry for a very long time.  This time, I was ready to read her latest gem during my pandemic isolation.  It humored my soul with it’s wisdom in plain view. I let it lay beside my pillow at night, and fall into a slump (like everything else does these days) on to the carpet by the bed beside me.  I chuckled over the non-pretentious realities presented by it’s author, the Brooklyn-born poet, CantoMundo Fellow, and Pisces, as is self-described on her back book cover.  Maldonado is a humor monger and a heart breaker. Published appropriately by Brooklyn Arts Press, this is  Maldonado’s second book of poetry, after one-bedroom solo, another one to fall in love with, published by A Gathering of the Tribes’ Fly by Night Press.  The cover this time features a photo the author took of herself in her bathtub; her toes polished in dark blue while she is submerged in the common luxury of a tub. The image works as an homage to Frida Kahlo’s painting, “What the Water Gave Me.” that’s what you get, her title served in lowercase letters, is an offering and a spanking of plain truths, much like it calls itself in its own name. It is served with an honesty, sarcasm, and unfussy hilarity that can reach any reader.  It’s real largesse is that it offers everything you’d want a timeless book of poetry to offer. It has great depth and social commentary, while holding esteem for the common place, and presents deep truths put forward by relatable images like “epic laundry.” It is topped off by some very moving and heartbreaking love poems which combine the aforementioned tropes and techniques. 

Maldonado’s wit is unavoidable. How can a reader keep from laughing with lines like this, excerpted from her poem, “poet in a shade of jade” :

I am so jealous of how poor you are

of how poor

your particular stilo pobre

The way you put no cash and

no money together is uncanny

This aesthetic

lack of change combined

with lack of dollars

is very difficult to duplicate

and I hate you for that

Maldonado’s humor reminds me of Pedro Pietri’s phone booth series poems-- silly words constructed with charm that match serious social context. Who doesn’t need a good laugh about money or the “acquisition of wealth” these days? She continues:

What I look forward to most 

 is not tolerating 

how you hoard your poverty

tell no one your secret

The book is so personal it literally opens with her birth certificate, and ponders the crisis of doing laundry-- “epic laundry” at that, the poem that bears this title makes a political statement about visibility, how one spends time, and economic status-- via visions and vignettes of folding clothes.

Thankfully, there’s an ode to laying around called “and still I lay.” What words could be more timely for readers in this moment?  Maldonado hails lounging around and makes it a legitimate action:

I place me on the couch like this

I am up on the sofa that way

like Usain Bolt horizontal

a champion of lay

While making a comment on self-care, recent protests, war, inaction, and heralding writers like James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, and Maya Angelou-- Maldonado presents an entire poem about “laying down” that brings the reader from her own mother slapping “you upside the head with her eyes from a queen-sized bed” to topics like xenophobia. Moreover, pandemic times allow anyone following Sheila Maldonado on Instagram the great pleasure of seeing her read this poem aloud. She’s filtered in great beauty-- complete with computerized purple eyeshadow, gold hoop earrings and glitter lips and speaks with an audio application that makes her voice sound like an androgynous machine. She is embellished beyond anything I have seen of this poet before-- and I’m the type of fan that anxiously awaits her posts to see if she will share a bit more of her personal space--  will she be circling hips on screen to merengue in her bedroom or reliving her poem “the night Bjork DJ’ed in BK?” right in front of the camera? She is the kind of poet that wants to be reached, discovered, and offers the reader a chance to know where she is coming from through the accessibility and honesty presented in her work.  

The book is an eclectic fusion of Honduran roots, meets Coney Island Catholic heritage, entangled by New York City art scenes, Spanglish, and crafty sound designs. She flips sound in poems like “drop day”  and owns language with “my-kus” and “bike-kus.” And while that’s what you get is 70 percent humorous to me, the poet’s reflection on love is devastating, moving, and relatable in a way I have not read in quite some time. One of her poems, “winter zuihitsu,” opens up with “my vagina was your death therapist” and continues with “ the first lesson of 40 is let go...the people you want don’t want to stay.” Place supersedes any other lover in “on the lake today,” a poem I will most certainly read aloud to a group of friends or students gathered in a room someday, I’m sure, because I found it to be so touching. Here, the poet proclaims the lake to be her “real true boyfriend,” her “real love,” and says, “places love me more than people.” In another poem, “all the things you left in my house,”  the poet gets to keep all the “gadgets” left behind from a relationship-- the poem providing an itemized list of the cold electronics and wasted feelings left behind between the couple. This is how Sheila Maldonado reaches her reader. She abandons the idea of elitist poetry steeped in mystery and gives the reader tangible objects to match feelings that they can not help but fully understand. Here’s a brief excerpt of “all the things you left in my house:”

the router

you’re in

the fucking air

of this place

wireless

that falls apart

have to reboot

wastes all

my goddamn time

the internet tv

more air

and waste

another fine

black hole

of video

and memory

 A router, humidifier, and a bidet have a place to grandstand in a love poem written by Maldonado, because, of course, that makes the loneliness make sense. 

The combination of ass jets, cursed words, and Catholicism presented in this book is to be greatly appreciated. How this poet “whips out this stupid loneliness” on a dance floor in her poem “infinite wop” is a take away and a lesson to be learned, especially during this desolate moment in history. If you ever get lucky enough to hear Sheila Maldonado read aloud, or to witness her down-to-earth ass shaking in her own apartment (sometimes she posts readings and dancing on Instagram) you are in for a real treat. She is generous with her humor, candor, and honesty, which is all we can ask of any poet, and thankfully, with this book-- that’s what you get. 

Melanie Maria Goodreaux is a poet, playwright, essayist, fiction writer and dramatist from New Orleans, LA. Her book, Black Jelly, was published with A Gathering of the Tribes, and is a collaboration with photographer Nikki Johnson. She is proud of the many years she worked with the legendary Steve Cannon and all the worlds, vision, and support he contributed to her craft.