where Robles and Limoncillos grew
stunted by the winds from heaven,
and parrots streaked
the skies with feathers.
There was a place,
where el vecino, the neighbor,
whose name you might not know
brought a load of sugar cane
meláo, or whatever they thought
you might want to share,
a plena or a game of dominó
maybe for a loan to help them through
one more month, perhaps just a day,
la luz, the electricity gone again.
En el barrio, the kitchens brimmed
with the aroma of café at three o’clock
and the cooking of onions and garlic
to call a passerby; mi casa es, you already know…
It was also the place where the fear
that kept us tangled like roots of mangroves
was the call of ocean storms that stole
to distant shores the ones we couldn’t give up
yes, it was also the place where fathers grieved
their sons and daughters disappearing
from mangroves that could not hold them
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 4.
Amelia Díaz Ettinger is a BIPOC poet and writer, she has three full-length poetry books and two poetry chapbooks. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in literary journals and anthologies. She has an MFA in creative writing from Eastern Oregon University. Presently, she and her partner reside in Summerville, Oregon with two dogs, one cat, and way too many chickens.
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