winter solace
published in Transcendence Magazine
“I gave him the persimmons,
swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.”
- Li Young Lee
As if the clouds
have fallen to
the ground, stacked
like piles of blankets.
I can see
the footprints
stomped into the snow,
footprints zigzagging--
one ahead of the other.
Pairs of trails
intersecting
like poorly
mapped roads.
These are the winters in Kearns,
too cold to withstand.
El abrigo. The hot chocolate.
Los besos en la mañana--
my mother’s green eyes scanning
my figure to make sure I had more
layers of clothing than bare skin.
These are the winters in Treasure Valley,
full of solace in
fog & hibernating wishes
over frozen bridges.
This is where I learned how
to produce heat with
my frail brown hands,
where I learned how
to distinguish shadows and
the steam of my breath.
This is where Mexicans keep
their sun gods in shrines,
where there is a slow hum in every casita.
These are winters in South Tucson,
brimming with shivering saguaro
& an absence of sun.
There are only solstice showers
& the splendor
of frost over
my lawn’s surface
as if the clouds
have fallen to
the ground, spread
like icing on pan dulce.
© Enrique García Naranjo, 2015
“I gave him the persimmons,
swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.”
- Li Young Lee
As if the clouds
have fallen to
the ground, stacked
like piles of blankets.
I can see
the footprints
stomped into the snow,
footprints zigzagging--
one ahead of the other.
Pairs of trails
intersecting
like poorly
mapped roads.
These are the winters in Kearns,
too cold to withstand.
El abrigo. The hot chocolate.
Los besos en la mañana--
my mother’s green eyes scanning
my figure to make sure I had more
layers of clothing than bare skin.
These are the winters in Treasure Valley,
full of solace in
fog & hibernating wishes
over frozen bridges.
This is where I learned how
to produce heat with
my frail brown hands,
where I learned how
to distinguish shadows and
the steam of my breath.
This is where Mexicans keep
their sun gods in shrines,
where there is a slow hum in every casita.
These are winters in South Tucson,
brimming with shivering saguaro
& an absence of sun.
There are only solstice showers
& the splendor
of frost over
my lawn’s surface
as if the clouds
have fallen to
the ground, spread
like icing on pan dulce.
© Enrique García Naranjo, 2015