A Conversation with Marina Benjamin, Author of Insomnia
a rooster crows from a neighbor’s backyard / pinche gallo, Abuelo spits, looks quick / to see if i wake from the noise / of Spring
a rooster crows from a neighbor’s backyard / pinche gallo, Abuelo spits, looks quick / to see if i wake from the noise / of Spring
WHAT IS A COUNTRY TO A UNIVERSE?
i am a curly black haired baby
planted in a white netted hammock
between a Weeping Banyan
n a Canary Island Palm
Tio Luis n the yard workers
of Garcia Landscape Services
park their pickup trucks in the driveway
push lawn mowers thru the garden
of dappled light around me
a rooster crows from a neighbor’s backyard
to see if i wake from the noise
of Spring, my eyes flutter white
sheets on the clothesline, nopales stretch
skywild along the back fence
inside, Abuela practices English
fills pages of a composition notebook
w/ the twisted hammock
of her translated cursive
butter
i stumble toward
ven mija, ven acá
my piernitas daffodil
around Abuelo
i curse the rooster
his crooked teeth
shoulder folded con risa
between spoons
of pistachio ice cream
i crayon
above an eagle
eating a snake
i don’t speak English
i lick the bowl clean
my favorite game:
bring their arms above
their heads n
down
i
duck
waves of cotton
limbs barrel thru
the plush fabric
when the game
is over, i reach
for their fingertips
palm the whole
framed sky