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Category: Angela Narciso Torres

Confessions of a Transplant

My first year living in America

the scent of frying garlic

sent me weeping. My eyes

swept the somber avenues,

starving for color. I devoured

the aquamarine of broken glass,

a wire festooned with yellow shoes,

the shower of plum blossoms

on a sidewalk. The memory

of sour mangoes made rivers

in my mouth. At the market, I picked

the greenest nectarines, dredged them

in salt that stung my chapped lips.

Words I hoarded like rock

candy, melted on my tongue

like my too-hard r’s. Range Rover, red

robin, river rock. I practiced

into the ear of an empty flagon,

reciting litanies to the saint

of lost things. The walls

echoed with whispers.

Lying lily-still in the goblet

of night, I drank the croons

of nameless birds.

from What Happens is NeitherFind more by Angela Narciso Torres at the library

Copyright © 2021 Angela Narciso Torres
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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