lost birds

how do you mourn
a country you left
on your own?
how do you mourn
youth that
dried up like
hot water in the sun?

howl
hide
stare through windows
at the sky

wait
a little longer

for summer
for winter
wait for a burst of laughter
once in a while

if i tell my tales, will they
fly away from me
like birds
or grow by my door like
the rosebushes,
planted?

if i open my mouth
what language will i speak?
what will i say?
will my words fly in circles
and bite me
like mosquitoes?

they almost killed me, once

how do you love your life again
when you leave your country and
your youth dries up like grass,
when everything you love is
only in your mind
(either far away or flown)

and all the love flies
around and around
the rosebushes like
lost birds
who don’t know where to land?

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The Chicken or The Eggs

Maria Lucía points to the hen, then to Fernanda and laughs.
I don’t understand.

Fernanda is eyeing my hen.
She wants to eat her.

No, no!  Fernanda says, pressing her hands to her heart.
Maria Lucía is eyeing her own hen.
She wants to eat her.

Now we are all giggling and I confess to myself that I also want eat her.
We laugh at each other’s hunger for meat, weighing one pot of stew against all those eggs.