part: an exact divisor of a quantity

a partir, from my thoughts for just a moment while this conversation goes on
an on, and on, and on

a partir, from this place for just a second while my body calms and my leg stops bouncing
back and forth, back and forth, back and forth

to part, to part, to part

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¿Y la Prieta?

My grandma, Ita, called me Prieta. She called me this because my skin is toasted brown. When I was born my mom says I was light skinned, but she knew “que iba ser morena” because the inside of my little baby thighs were already darker than the rest of me. In the sun, I turn a darker brown. I get even more Prieta. It was a term of endearment. My sister, who has a light complexion, was called guera or guerinchi. When I tell people who don’t speak Spanish what Prieta means, dark or the dark one, their eyes open wide and a small gasp escapes. I see the offense they feel for me sprinkled on their faces like the freckles I will never have. When I try to explain, the offense still shadows their eyes. That is the problem with Spanish. Wait, maybe, that is their problem with Spanish. Even when I explain, they are suspicious. Their faces ask, “Is this true?” as if I am setting them up for a joke. But how can I explain the cultural and literal meaning of a word at the same time? ...

Para Las Nietas

Cuando se van las abuelitas, se va una parte fundamental. We are pulled from the brown soil. Roots exposed. We falter, droop. How can we continue without the cariño of their warm hands to support us? Nourish us con sus caricias. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se van los almuerzos y cenas que no más ellas hacían. Las comidas that tasted of their love can no longer exist. The tacos crispy and brown, won’t taste the same. The flavor, like a duende, can’t be caught no matter how hard we try to capture it in our own kitchens. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se nos va el lenguaje, porque ellas nos hablaban en español. Nuestros apodos como Güera, Prieta, Niña, Mima, y Mija se desaparecen. We ache to hear the sounds of our names from their lips and grasp for their words. The ones we didn’t know we would miss. Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va el amor duro. We lose the sharp tongues quick with consejos we didn’t want to hear at the time. Se nos pierden los dichos and the wisdom we...

Thursday's with Carolyn & the Smokey Special

Dim lighting and a smokey feel without the smell. The voice of the singer, Carolyn, wraps around me as I stand in the doorway. " Give me one reason to stay here..." Groups of friends crowded around tables filled with amber glasses and dancing ice. Laughter erupts, and smiles grace the faces of those around me. Chatter overlaps and wraps around and changes and morphs like small waves, moving, with the flow of our chorused voices. " Come together, right now, over me..." We talk, we sing, bursts of laughter at the crescendo of our conversation punctuate our sentences. Small talk, big talk, serious talk, all mingled at one table where new friends, old friends, and family sit together. " " You say one love, one life...." " What did that mean ?" " Another mojito ?" " Pictures! " "We had a presentation today, last minute." "I do translations." " T...

And then. . .

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