Cariño, you’ve never lived my war—
a glass of fresh water in the ocean.
Everything is mine
on loan: the leaves I’ve combed out of my hands.
I want to mold what I cannot return to,
let me say
palm, coconuts on palms, water. Let me say
I know how to unsheathe husks to shut my thirst.
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Narrative is a hundred percent reader-supported. If you love what you’re reading, please make a one-time or monthly tax-deductible donation. Your gift of $60 or more includes a 1-year Backstage Pass with special features and exclusive previews.
