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 . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. 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.

  2. Beautiful and wonderfully evocative.

  3. that was beautiful. i could see and feel and smell and experience that. awesome.

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