On her windowsillMother keeps a small garden.A patch of many shapes and colors.Old twigs coaxing unborn leaves.Subversive thorns caring for vari-colored blooms.Plants and essences...
Grace
The many tremors comeunannounced, but we knowthey are coming. The old earthgives way and soft papayasare on the ground. Lemongrassfills the air and everywhere...
Mamay, here you are soaking the soft riceAnd wrapping them in the leaves tender, darkenedDarkened by the tiniest flame that you whispered to.The bundles...
