Amalia Mayita Mendez ,  Puedo Volar (I Can Fly)  (Photograph)

Amalia Mayita MendezPuedo Volar (I Can Fly) (Photograph)

Fireflies strung, the lilac evening
beaded on the drinks in our fathers’

raised hands. Our fathers didn’t turn
from the patios; our mothers practiced

eternity. In this game only I could move. 
Time stands still because

it has a body—My brothers and
the kids from our cul-de-sac

fell where I flung them, landed as tigers
mid-roar, or movie stars tipping their chins.

Their bare ankles in the grass didn’t itch. 
Through open windows the clatter of dishes

quieted, our mothers’ calls stretched

so I could walk between the sounds.


Erin Malone