Something of late November
sifting through a window
brings back this prelude.
Two voices blend, I lean
into the keys, draw back
when the voices part.
How the body remembers—
Señora V. in a floral dress,
talcumed hand soft
on the curve of my spine
imprinting what she knew
of love and time. How could I know
what those notes would mean
decades of preludes ahead.
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.