La niña (a poem)
La niña sits
snuggled close to her father
A stranger’s smile
sends her burying her face
into his cotton dress shirt
which smells of sunshine
and Palmolive
orange-red sopa
is set on the table
hot! – hot!
(caliente y picante both)
oily circles float on the surface
looking like the puddles at a carwash that Papi says not to touch,
but this, he says,
Eat. Coma. Andalé pues,
and puts a warm tortilla into her hand.
- Tracy López
Posted on July 26, 2010, in writing and tagged poetry. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.
Love it! I remember when I had my first baby, I could write poetry really good for awhile. It was fun. Now, not so much.
Beautiful and wonderfully evocative.
that was beautiful. i could see and feel and smell and experience that. awesome.