The Good Boys

My two nephews were watching TV when I stopped in to my mom's yesterday. I was impressed at how well they were behaving. While I had lunch with my mom, the boys joined us at the table for some milk and homemade cookies. One of the boys told me about World Wars I and II, and what he learned from the Pearl Harbor movie. The other boy told me about an upcoming fishing trip with his dad. It was a pleasant insight in to the boys' interests.

The boys left the table after a while and enjoyed some silliness, like crawling and creeping around the house, and sneaking up on me. Later, I heard them giggle as they gently tossed around what I thought was a small Frisbee. Their abuelo (grandfather) was not amused, but I assured my dad that no es nada (no big deal) and the boys returned to their cartoons.

Before I left, I tore out two slips of paper from a notepad in my bag. On each, I created an "Excellent Behavior" note, promising a special prize in the future, as long as they could present the slip of paper to me next time we meet. I handed the "coupons" to the boys and watched as they read them. They exchanged smiles, folded the slips back up, and placed them in their pockets. I kissed them good-bye, and made my way out the door.

I had to turn around though, realizing I had left my book on the table. As I walked out again, I peeked in on the boys. They were reading their coupons to each other!

Awesome. Now, assuming they're successful in preserving those little slips of paper for a few weeks, what should the prize be? Must it be a thing?

Walking in Papi's Shoes

I've shared another bilingual book review over at Latin Baby Book Club. Go there to read about The Woman Who Outshone the Sun/La mujer que brillaba aún más que el sol by Alejandro Cruz Martinez.

My father was gracious enough to be a guest reader at my school last week, along with my mom. He read this book to my students. Retired for several years now, Papi taught high school Spanish. I'm sure that reading to a group of 4th graders had to have felt quite different after spending so many years with hormonal teenagers. Papi was the perfect maestro though; he read at the perfect pace, pausing here and there to ask a question or show the illustrations.

My dad, a former teacher, read to my students, in his dress shirt, cardigan sweater, and pressed pants. As I watched and listened, it occurred to me that I too, wear that same outfit to school every day. Papi would carry a book and paper-filled briefcase to and from work; I lug home an about-to-explode book bag. Along with that, I use and reuse the same plastic Barnes & Noble bag to carry extra papers and such; Papi did the same I remember, using a shopping bag until it almost cried for mercy. When he was teaching, he carried so much stress around, and now, I do the same. At the same time, Papi was proud to teach the Spanish language and its rich literature. That is perhaps the most special gift he has given me.

My father took me to school. He led me to teaching. And when he read to my students, I had the pleasure of bringing him back.

Mami and the Dancing Tiger

El baile del tigre caught my eye as books with cats on the covers always do. The cover shows a tiger dancing with a little girl. I once tried to “commission” my sister to paint a portrait of me sitting in a cat’s lap, the cat reading me a story. I suppose I always fancied interacting with animals that way, in a fantasy world. At any rate, I borrowed El baile del tigre from the school library and was enamored by the story and the drawings. This book now carries a special memory; I had the pleasure of hearing my own mother read it to my students.

Originally published in English as The Dancing Tiger, Malachy Doyle creates a precious story of a little girl who discovers a tiger dancing in the forest in the moonlight. You can only see him when it’s quiet and the moon is full. One night, the little girl ventures out into the woods and surprises the tiger in mid-dance. He whispers to her not to tell anyone what she has seen. He promises that, if she keeps the secret, she can return to dance with him when the moon is full. And from then on, the little girl visits with the tiger once a month, season after season, to dance as only a little girl and a tiger can.

The illustrations by Steve Johnson and Lou Fancher are truly special, in particular the scene where tiger and little girl waltz in the newly fallen snow, leaving their prints. This book is translated very well. The poetic text is perfect for teaching mood, setting, and descriptive language. One could even integrate the concept of seasons and phases of the moon. Personification also comes to mind, as we’ve recently discussed examples of this in my class.

In the end, the narrator is revealed as an old woman who brings her granddaughter to the forest, to continue enjoying this wonderful fantasy. The woman sits and beholds the magic of the little girl and the dancing tiger in the moonlight.

Last week, our school held a special day-long reading event, with invited guest readers. I seized the opportunity to bring my own parents to school to read to my students. I handed my mother this book to read to my fourth graders. She was wonderful, pausing to show the pictures, holding the book up for all to see. She read to my class as if she were reading to her own grandchildren. While she read to my students, I hoped that for a moment, they would remember their own grandmothers. I know that Mami and I both tucked the moment away in that place of special memories.

Snow... Music to my Ears

There's a little excitement in my home today. The word is a "mega-snow" event is headed our way. The idea is uplifting to me, though I know it irks others.

Why, when I love teaching so much does the idea of a snow day make me giddy? Does my anticipation of a day off reflect on my work ethic? Or does it just mean I need a free day to LIVE, without the rushing around and stress of work?

I'll get to sleep an extra hour or so
and have time to slowly drink and savor the morning's hot cup of coffee.
I'll get to finish my book and do some writing.
My husband will make a hot lunch of soup,
served up with a sandwich he has invented.
I may sneak a nap in somewhere.
My son and I will watch an old movie favorite together,
covered up with warm blankets,
the cat purring between us.

Things will slow down a bit,
the mood will be peaceful,
as it always is on a snow day.

Friday after school, I lugged home an over-packed bookbag, filled with papers to grade, writing to edit, and lessons to plan. So, I'll do all of that today, Sunday, so I may enjoy tomorrow, Snow day.

It's nature's way of telling me to slow down, look around, live life.

En el medio

The middle sister – a small fairy-like woman
her body is wrapped in the arms and legs of her youngest
who twirls his fingers in her short, black hair
finds comfort in her soft neck
whimpers in pain, wanting

the sister in the middle – a strong, athletic woman
her heart is weakened by the growth spurts of her daughter
who rolls her preteen eyes, pulling at her, and pulling away
tests her mother with words and attitude
shrugs off a reprimand from

the middle sister – a determined, concerned woman
her thoughts are consumed by her own middle child
who flips pages in fishing magazines
squints at big words, trying to please
asks for help at homework time from

the middle child,
who used to make her mother cry and her father’s blood boil
sought attention,
rebelled, then returned as

the middle one – discovered by a man
for the treasure she is

a centered woman now –
pulled in many directions
but her hands reach, touch, fix, and heal
effortlessly
love completely.
She is a warming-core,
the center of family.

Rocking out with José

My dad took us out last night to see José Feliciano. What a show! José sang old and new hits, among them his awesome rendition of the Beatles’ In My Life, his own Porque te tengo que olvidar, his ever-popular Doors' hit Light My Fire, and the one that makes my heart ache, Chico and the Man. My husband got the chills when José sang Elvis’ Suspicious Minds.

I’m used to singing out loud and dancing through concerts, but last night the crowd was made up of older, low-key folks, in other words viejitos. People stayed put in their seats. But I felt myself chair-dancing, I couldn’t help it. Especially when José played his version of Clapton’s Lay Down Sally, and Sergio Mendez’ signature song Mais que nada. I was totally feeling the music. I wanted to get up and DANCE!

My son was mesmerized by the effortless way José’s fingers traveled up and down the guitar, creating the most soul-filled melodies. The artist told jokes and shared short stories between songs, about growing up in New York, about friends and family, and memories of his teachers. Even at this time in his life, when he has enjoyed success and basks in the love of his fans around the world, José spoke of his teachers. That meant the world to me.

Toward the end of the evening, José played a deeply-felt Drummer Boy… reminding me (the doubter, the questioner) about humility. It’s etched in my mind, nudging me to adjust my attitude. I wish you could have heard it.

José closed the show with Feliz Navidad, one of the most popular holiday songs in the United States, and the #1 downloaded Latino song on iTunes. Everyone in the house was clapping and singing along in Spanish, and for me, the world was just about perfect.

Gracias papi – por el hermoso regalo.

That thing that moms do

Can I make you French toast this morning?
My son’s eager eyes convey pleasure at the thought of
a real mom-made breakfast,
not frozen, not shaken out from a box,
nor spread between two pieces of wheat bread.
Do I have the ingredients? Let’s see…
here’s eggs, white bread,
in the cupboard the cinnamon, and near the coffee-maker
a container holding hundreds of pink packets, and lucky for us
several white Domino packets of the real stuff.
But there’s no milk in the fridge.
No problem – I’ll use half & half!
It’s the same thing, pretty much.
In fact, it’ll probably taste better.
I gather everything and get to work.
Crack open three eggs, pour in the “milk”,
shake in a bunch of cinnamon, and pour in a few sugar packets.
I do that thing that the chefs do with a fork, really fast
making sure he sees me.
He’ll have a memory of me making him French toast.
I drop a glob of butter in the pan,
and while it melts, I place the bread in to the stuff I’ve mixed,
letting it soak.
With my fork, I stab the bread and transport it across
several inches of countertop
dripping cinnamon-egg slop along the way,
and lay it in the sizzling pan.
He walks by, and I’m humming, poking at the bread with the fork,
peaking underneath to see if it’s time to turn it over.
Is that what it’s supposed to look like? we both wonder.
After a while, both sides look ready, I place the toast on a plate and
take it to the table where my son waits, smiling.
This is awesome! he says, while I watch him eat.
I’ll have a memory of him eating French toast,
that I made for him.

Viva la vida y los momentos que compartimos

Last Sunday night, a week ago, we surprised our son with a Coldplay concert. We tricked him in to thinking we were going to his grandparents’ house for a late dinner, and on the way he fell asleep in the car. Perfect! My husband drove while we rocked out to our favorite music and the boy slept in the back.

When we finally made it to the concert, we blasted the radio, playing “Viva la Vida”, waking the boy up. His eyes were wide, alarmed. “Wake up! Wake up! Let’s go man! We’re at the Coldplay concert!” My husband was having fun with this.

“Yeeeeaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” my son roared. He was clearly psyched.

We had an awesome time. I kept looking over at my little boy, now as tall as me, singing, clapping, cheering, feeling the emotions that one feels when totally surrounded by music and people. People from all over were there, yet everyone seemed to be from the same place, feeling the same joy. There’s nothing like music to make you feel like the world will be OK.

On the way home, 1:00 in the morning, my son said, “I’ll never forget this night.” Me neither, kid. You, me, and the music.

A place is home when you make it yours

I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.
Yo siempre me había imaginado al Paraíso como una especie de biblioteca.
– Jorge Luis Borges

Several months ago, I lost my second home. My favorite bookstore, Borders, was closed down to poor sales. Funny, I thought my little family and I had done our part to keep the place running; we spent almost hundreds there on a monthly basis. Either folks didn't read enough, or another chain was too big to compete with, and my favorite bookstore shut down forever.

That store was our Friday night hang-out. It was where I read and purchased the bulk of my teacher resources and satisfied my ever-growing desire for Hispanic literature. I discovered Indian authors there, and soon began my exploration of writings from other cultures. We discovered all sorts of new music at that store, and spent many contented evenings at the little tables, sipping coffee. My husband was fond of the place as well, as he was always able to satisfy his ever-evolving interests there.

We practically raised our son at this store. In fact, during my pregnancy, I retreated to the bookstore to pore over childbirth and baby-name books, sipping on slushy frozen coffee. When my boy was born, we took his little infant self to the store every week, in a carriage stocked with baby paraphernalia, and spent hours there, while he slept. The bottom of the carriage was ideal for carrying our purchases, which included baby board books, mothering magazines, and more glimpses of the world for me to read.

As our boy grew, so too did his love for books. At one and two, he immediately recognized the place and used his baby words to say he wanted to go to the children’s section. One of my most treasured memories is that of my husband, tall and husky, sitting on the carpeted steps, holding our son in his lap, reading to him, the baby pointing his little finger at the pictures. As he got older, the little guy would calmly sit in his stroller browsing through books he had selected.

Around the age of four or so, my son discovered super heroes, and so ventured to another section of the store. The books there were bigger, and heavier! We have a photo of him, sitting on a small step stool in the comics section, holding a rather large Marvel Comics History book. The intensity and interest in his face remain priceless. My son grew and changed; so too did his taste in books, from reptiles to cowboys, knights and castles to sports, Matt Christopher to Harry Potter. As soon as Friday rolled around, he would ask, “Can we go to the bookstore tonight?”

I took the closing of this treasured place very, very hard. On our last night there, we purchased at a huge discount what would be our last Borders books. My son, now 11, was intrigued by the stacks and stacks of books, toppling over, everything in disarray, folks grabbing and tossing, and the long lines. There was no more scent of coffee brewing, no subtle jazz music playing, and nowhere could you see a soul reading.

In the car, I fell apart. I cried as if someone had left me or died. My boys just sat silently as I sobbed. I stared back in the rear view mirror and lingered at the sight of the lit-up red letters and the large wooden doors as we drove away.

There are other Borders stores a few towns away, and of course Barnes & Noble sits just five minutes from here. But still. It’ll never be the same.

Una semana en el paraíso

After a long, lovely week in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, I'm back home. Crossing the state line back in to Jersey felt good, as it always does after a trip. Home is, after all, home. This was the yearly big family vacation, spent with my mom and dad, sisters and brother, and their families. You can imagine what 20 souls living together feels and sounds like; in the moment, it can be chaotic, overwhelming, exciting, and loud. Very loud. Now that it's over, I feel a little no sé qué. I miss having mi gente right there, close.

We were lounging in our beach chairs, enjoying our last day by the ocean, watching the kids play, thinking about the long drive back. I was also internally stressing over all the things I had to do when I got home, the back-to-school clothes shopping, appointments, the loads of laundry, setting up my classroom, the diet I need to start, and the work I need to complete before the first day of school, when a scraggly old guy walked by and paused near us. I waved to him, he waved back. He inched closer, and said something to my brother-in-law, who immediately engaged him with a "How you doin'?" The guy replied simply, "Another day in paradise!" and walked on his way, stopping every now and then to take a picture of a sand crab, a sandpiper, a crashing wave, the rubble of a sand castle.

Thank you, scraggly guy with the bandanna and camera, for reminding me how lucky I was to enjoy a week with the people I love most in the world. Thank you for reminding me that our kids are growing up fast and that they are, still, kids. Thank you for reminding me that moments like these are becoming less frequent, when we can all be together, all of us in one place. Thank you for reminding me to be grateful. Thank you for reminding me that it was indeed, paradise.

On Holiday!

We're leaving in a couple of hours for vacation to Outer Banks, North Carolina. It will be the entire family, that's 20 of us, under one roof for a week. We're experts at this; we've been doing the BIG TOGETHER for several summers now. The time always proves to be memorable.

I checked on our rental yesterday, and discovered that the house HAS NO INTERNET ACCESS! I emailed everyone, the messages were flying back and forth, and my brother jokingly admitted he purposely booked a house with no access so that it would be a true vacation.

WHAT?!?!?

Well, I'm still taking my lap-top, just in case. Besides, mi jefe found some local Internet cafes so he can do his "banking". (That means fantasy sports and keeping up with his blog.) I'll try to check in as well. If I don't, it will just mean I am resting and thoroughly enjoying the water, sun, and my family.

Adios folks! I'm outta here!

Let's Stay Together

My siblings and their children came over to spend the day yesterday. While the kids swam in the pool for hours, my husband and brother tore up the old shed out back, and my sisters and I stayed inside and talked. It was both a very simple yet fulfilling day. At one point, all fifteen of us were crowded into my small dining room for a simple meal of pizza and salad.

Our parents are away on a European trip, and as they get older, they often repeat to us kids that it would mean the world to them that we remain close, even after they leave us. It’s comforting to know that the safest and warmest place is with your family, and that often, your siblings are your best friends.

Mis hermanas y sus hijos vinieron a casa ayer a pasar el día. Mientras los chicos nadaron en la piscina, mi marido y mi hermano destrozaron el cobertizo viejo, y mis hermanas y yo nos quedamos adentro a charlar. Fué un día sencillo y agradable a la véz. Hubo un momento en el cual todos nos metimos en el comedor a cenar una comida sencilla de pizza y ensalada.

Nuestros padres estan de viaje en Europa, y mientras van envejeciendo, nos repiten frecuentemente que quisieran que estemos siempre juntos, aún cuando yá no esten con nosotros. Me consuela saber que el lugar más seguro y cariñoso es con la familia, y que muchas veces, los hermanos son los mejores amigos.

The way it was going to be

We were going to plant a vegetable garden
and i even said i would mow that huge lawn
the exercise would have been perfect
and in the mornings i would have looked out across the land
while i drank my first cup of coffee
watching the colors change
the deck would have been your second office
you like to write outside
our old fridge would have been in the garage
where we would stash beer, soda and
extra juice boxes where son and godchild could help themselves
because we wanted him and the cousins to be around a lot
jumping in the pool
running around and riding bikes
and wouldn't it have been awesome to be able to have the entire family
over and have big parties?
and i was dreaming about my brother dropping in for coffee
and my sister-in-law and i going for walks
and my boy...
tears me up when i think he just wanted to have someone to play with.

Dreaming of a lawn tractor

Finally! After waiting five months, someone wants to buy my house! ¡Por fin! A couple wants to move in to my house RIGHT AWAY!

So we went house-shopping during this very warm weekend. The houses we wanted to see were all in a development that I just had to live in because one of my siblings lives there and I really want to live near family. The realtor showed us several homes, and after he gave us a little background on some of them, I felt bad. You could tell some folks left in a hurry. But after all that, none of these houses suited us. They were either too big, too little, and most only had yards the size of a postage stamp. You need a little land to feel at one with nature now and then, you know? You could say we were just a bit frustrated. (And hot and thirsty! Did I mention how warm it was?)

During my Internet house-dreaming, I had seen one other property, not in the development, but just across the highway, still just a minute from my bro. It called to me; I thought it was exactly the kind of place I could see my pequeña familia in. But when I showed it to el jefe, he was not too keen on it, as it sits on two and a half acres, and all he could think of was how long it would take to cortar el pasto! He didn't even want to look at it. But after looking at several casas and not seeing anything, I asked the realtor to take us just across the highway anyway, just in case - no se pierde nada. There was nothing to lose.

Now el jefe is a quiet kind of guy, kind of serious, a pessimist, and reserved. As we drove up to this house, we saw the viejito, a little old man doing some yard work. He let us in, and ¡Qué cosa mas linda! We walked around the house, and the surrounding property. ¡Es todo un parque! I looked over at el jefe and he was wearing one of his very subtle, private smiles. I knew this place would grab him.

El niño liked everything about the house, especially the idea of being so close to his cousins. I loved the meticulous care the viejito had taken in the upkeep of the house, and I loved the kitchen. And what did el jefe like the best? Folks, he loved the land. All two and a half acres of it.

So, we cautiously made an offer. My very guarded jefe says "Don't get your hopes up, just in case." This latina optimista is already thinking "Where will we put the Christmas tree?"

Cross your fingers, enciendan las velitas. I wouldn't mind seeing el jefe smile like that again.

Fireworks and Families

Driving in to Milltown to see the fireworks was almost a mistake tonight. We both had our Starbucks coffees and the boy had his Frappuccino. We were ready for the show. However, every parking lot, every side street, every curb was filled with people who had already staked out their area and set up their chairs. We circled a few times, hoping to find a spot. No luck. Then it started to rain. Lightly at first, and then enough to have us doubt the fireworks would go on at all.

An idea! Let’s go to the Home Depot parking lot and watch from there. We drove almost a mile away, arriving to the parking lot where several others had the same idea. The rain continued, the windshield became blurry, and the boy became restless as we waited another 15 minutes. The sparkling explosions finally began, and we got out of the car, the boy and I.

As we stood there, I heard people around me admiring the lights, the colors, and the brightness. A small child’s sweet voice could be heard, laughing in amazement. Parents and children sat in their cars, or stood in the rain, cheerful and wet. My son and I shared an umbrella, and looked up together, past the stores and the trees, at the fireworks of this 4th of July. My child, who is now as tall as me, leaned against me as I put my arm around him. For just a moment, it felt like it was just the two of us.

And then, the show was over, and the cars began their battle to get out of the parking lot as fast as possible. All kinds of families, different ethnic groups, rap, rock, and reggaetón blasting from car radios, everyone was cutting each other off. Nothing says America to me like the wonderful differences between all of us, and the incredible and amusing urge to be the first one in line to go home!

On the way home, my boy said "Thanks guys", and I remembered that it is indeed easy to make my child happy.

Adiós Uncle Bob

My simple but heartfelt tribute to my Tio Beto, who passed away this morning. It's in Spanish, as this is the language of many of my fondest memories.

Acaban de avisarme que mi tío se nos fué de este mundo. Mi tío estuvo enfermo yá por largo tiempo y pasó ratos demasiados difíciles. Hace años que no lo veo, pero siempre fué parte de mis más gratos recuerdos de las vacaciones en Bolivia que pasé cuando era niña.

Aquí intento recordar…

Uncle Bob
dormía solo en un cuartito
la cama pegada a un estante lleno de libros
de techo a piso
subí a desearle buenas noches
mi tío yá estaba acostado
con las pijamas de flanela y una bufanda
las frazadas cubriéndolo hasta el pecho
los lentes puestos
estaba leyendo un libro
la barba me raspaba
cuando me acerqué a besarlo
olía a mentholato y te con limón
y mi tío decía “hasta mañana, mi hijita.”
El próximo día
lo veíamos llegar de la calle,
a la hora del almuerzo
con la camisa verde suave
su color preferido,
las gafas de sol,
el periódico, el pan,
y silbando una canción de Paul Anka.

Que duermas con los angelitos …

For my father

Pápi
¿recuerdas cuando me llevaste al trabajo
para enseñarme a tus colegas y a tus alumnos?
Me hiciste leer el periódico en voz alta
para que queden asombrados,
pero creo que tú fuiste el que quedó más sorprendido
al ver que tu pequeña hija tenía algo especial
algo de posibilidad
y desde ese momento que ví en tus ojos el orgullo
me dediqué a esforzarme a ser algo
aspirar a más
quise siempre verme de esa manera, iluminada
en tus ojos
todo port tí
papito de mi corazón.

Pápi - gracias por todo...

Doing it all - Mi marido lo hace todo

I've won the lottery.

He spends the day doing laundry
several loads of his son’s jeans and t-shirts
and his own work clothes
littering the laundry room floor
in between loads he opens up the pool
filling it with more water
checking the chemicals
skimming out fallen leaves
he also manages to pack a suitcase for himself and the boy
for a trip they’ve planned down south
selecting just enough pairs of underwear and shorts to get them through
he’ll do a load of wash down there if he has to
(he’s bought an extra bottle of detergent)
humming U2 and Johnny Cash as he walks
up and down the stairs
inside and outside
inside again to make a pot of coffee
washing, drying, folding
he fills baskets with fresh clothes
showers and makes love to his wife
then prepares a man’s dinner
of grilled burgers, sausage, macaroni and cheese
green beans and stewed tomatoes
(an attempt to get the boy to eat vegetables)
She cleans up, does the dishes
while he inspects the fridge for things he’ll need to pick up
at the grocery store
where he’ll go at night
after the boy goes to bed
after his woman writes him a list.

While he's away, she'll think about how damn lucky she is.

Mami's Lessons: Bath Time

Mami taught her three little girls
that a good bath and some cremita
on legs, knees, elbows and face
were most important
no matter where you were going
or what you were going to wear.

The three en la tina,
the oldest, self-conscious, trying to hide behind a washcloth
the middle one, talkative and entertaining
the youngest, quiet, fearful of the water in her eyes
tired mami
washed their long black hair
the water often way too hot for young skin
buckets of soapy water poured over their heads to rinse out the shampoo
Hold your breath! Too late,
coughing and sputtering
and getting yelled at for exagerando

Three in line, wrapped in thin towels
dripping on the floor, shivering
exhausted mami
squeezed creamy yellow Vaselina into their outstretched hands
reminding them about all the parts they should not overlook

Waiting for her quick hands to detangle, comb, and braid
three sweet-smelling little girls in softly faded pajamas
got ready their camitas
put the day’s clothes in the ropa sucia
and located fuzzy sleeping partners.
Neat parts down the middle of their scalps,
wet pony-tails or trenzas
scrubbed pink cheeks tilted toward their
loving mami
who kissed them sweetly and
pulled the covers up around them.
“Goodnight, mis hijitas.”

La hora del té

Las cinco de la tarde
en casa de mi abuela
un foco alumbra la cocina verde
los azulejos de la mesa, frias
encima un mantel de plástico
y sillas vacías
esperando a que nos reunamos
para la hora del té.

Copas, tazas, platitos
de diferentes juegos,
cucharillas sencillas y otras finas
azúcar y sobrecitos rosados,
mantequilla, queso, mermelada
y pan.
Glorioso pan
que acaban de traer
en una bolsa,
la que siempre va colgada en la puerta.
Todos los días esa caminata
a la panadería
para traer el pan que tanto llena.
Agua hirviente para el té
“O prefieres café?”
pregunta mi abuelita.
A las cinco de la tarde
mi abuelita
con las manos hinchadas de artritis
me sirve un quemante té con limón
con tanto cariño en La Paz.