Your art silvering my eyes, your tongue in my mouth wanting sweet blood-red cactus blooms, spring nopales stripped of thorns you stir into my morning eggs. . . the skin of your voice sun-baked brown darts claro y verdad, hummingbird palabras resting in your English of purple and gold lantana, tea of hibiscus in rain water, chili pequins and avocado in the molcajete; what you say hovers and slips to flesh. The kindergartener ran away from home, ran to his abuelito watering rows of corn, ran to his abuelita cocinando sopa de sun yellow squash blossoms. In the morning he was returned to the nuns; in school they beat you for speaking. You tell me secrets. I wonder about gathering peyote, sickness and revelation, the floods you rose from. We cross borders borders cross over us we are one another at the other’s side. I live where you are native where we live nuestras lenguas son mingling vines
Issue: Summer 2011 » Poetry
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