Thursday, November 4, 2010

here, jita, let me get that for you

my hands are the lurid white of a tourist's
but
a man called me his "hijita" today
opened the door for me and called me
his daughter, here:
where I am the pale dust
of a foreigner
in this neighborhood of
earth

2 comments:

  1. I really, really, really love this poem.

    Everything about it is so perfect to me.

    ReplyDelete