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Remember MeGuadalupe Garcia McCall
Remember me not by these old
Battered chanclas, these strap
Sandals wrapped around my wide,
Flat feet, leather shawls
Pulled loosely over dusty toes.
Remember me as the dimpled skin
Of ripe limes, sliced through, squeezed out,
The burst in your mouth a surprise,
As unexpected and sweet as the limonada
I brought out to you on that hot, summer day.
Don’t remember me by this fat mole
On my face, the dark spot growing in the
Same place as my Tia’s, a repugnant beauty
Mark, soft and bulbous as a miniature fig
Planted firmly on the side of my cheek.
Do remember me as the dusky chilero,
That tiny, orphaned bird we found huddling
Behind the trashcan after a rainstorm,
His clipped wing, a splintered branch,
Now bandaged and healing.
Forget that my eyes are brown and dark
As the murky waters of the Rio Grande
When they have been waded in, stirred through the
Night by those whose names are remembered
In prayers by their long-forgotten loved ones.
Remember me instead as the bubbles of laughter
That erupted from our throats and rose over us
Like hot air balloons when we mispronounced
Each other’s names, dos cotorras, two parrots
Sitting side by side, green as new blades of grass.
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