novicember
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:
H. North West
11/5/10, 12:33 AM
I really, really, really love this poem.
Everything about it is so perfect to me.
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Chloe
11/6/10, 8:49 AM
Thank you so much!
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I really, really, really love this poem.
ReplyDeleteEverything about it is so perfect to me.
Thank you so much!
ReplyDelete