For her the worlds of language and life are one and the same: ``Lorenzo, I forget what's real. We meet again a powerful, fiercely independent woman of Mexican heritage, though this time innocence has long been lost. Readers of Cisneros's coming-of-age novel The House on Mango Street (which Knopf is reissuing in hardcover) will recognize the almost mythic undertow of her voice it never weakens. You bring out / the primordial exquisiteness in me.'' As if breaking all the rules (``Because someone once / said Don't / do that! / you like to do it''), she delves with urgency into things carnal-sequins, cigars, black lace bras and menstrual blood.
The three parts of this spirited collection address the heart, ``spangled again and lopsided.'' In her second book of poems, Cisneros ( My Wicked Wicked Ways ) presents a street-smart, fearlessly liberated persona who raves, sometimes haphazardly, always with abandon, about the real thing: ``I am.
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