Sofia Dorantes

0"1,(/

Although his name is meant to roll smoothly With its "r" and accented "u" His name collected on my mother's tongue ln drops of sour milk, Each time more spoiled

Regardless, I stayed true

l've been the border, The mortar between tiles And so as I grow they become entirely different nations Our visits meant an absence of rules, Freedoms my mother spat on Always an enticing subject

Black and White movies of lust, death and war He never believed in protecting the youth from reality Why should he? As a child he'd have to retrieve H is incapacitated, intoxicated Jefe From cobblestone streets

\of* Dorontet

Our visits were 99 cent bags of sour gummies, Wheels of lt/arzipan with a red rose on the wrapper The lingering sting of cilantro, Crushed garlic cloves And tortilla strips drying on a cutting board by the window lwould garden his walls with glossy cut outs From National Geographic's And acrylic paintings of my own.

He told me he measured our relationshrp By the floors of the apartments he lived in Right off the red line Grandville stop

When he lived on the second floor It was suitable for one man And the overnight stays of a six year old However, out the window there was nothing But pigeons'hoots, grey feather bits, Wire pentagons and red brick He felt lh grown into the need to see more life

art by Elena Buis

',i\

1 When he lived on the seventh floor I could see the lake spread out An even blue line above blurred cars And stacks ofgrays and tans I could watch the sunrays stab through in the morning But the Iiving space was but a mere single room Not for the stays of an eleven year old

And so the fourth floor it was Just the right size for both of us, But that's when I stopped showing

He still pulls up in his stick shift car Every once in a while His black mustache rising when he sees me He forces philosophers with peeling covers into my hands like Krishnamurti And CD s of Lola Beltran's cries And he speaks to me of the ego planets we create

Each time I see him my tongue and jaw muscles adjust to the language I share with him and I cradle his words in my palms.

ftsz,zt AW* Xovril'Qzrtza

lVy stomach tightens when I look at his distant, chalky blue eyes. From our short, but long-awatted lunch conversation, he's withdrawn, And l'm not quite sure why l'm overwhelmed so with this stark surprtse

lnstead of the usualjokes and the well-intended advice, He impulsively complains of being treated as a pawn. Nly stomach tightens when I look at hls distant, chalky blue eyes.

His questions for me are not as they should be, of school and cute guys, But if my love is stronger for him than Nonna. And then it dawns, And l'm not quite sure why l'm overwhelmed so with this stark surprise.

tti{, f U r\ tD \Avq. Slrt' of a,T I vt o bdrc{ "

I can't stand when l'm there. He spends his time trying to tncise Opinions into my head, when in a matter of days, l'm gone. It/y stomach tightens when I look at hls distant, chalky blue eyes. I remember his giggles and card games; I used to think him wise. Now it's "She hates me" or "They all steal from me" his spirit is drawn And l'm not quite sure why l'm overwhelmed so with this stark

su rPrise.

I couldn't bear to break down his terrorized heart, instead I feed lies, And avoid this feeble-minded man's sorry: he's all undergone. For I know he loves me and has a kind heart, despite his disguise. So I take his moth-ball perfumed Euros: our abstracted goodbyes.