Poem: May/June 2017


May 8, 2017

Issue 24: May/June 2017Poetry


By M. E. Wakamatsu

With right hand cupped,
she scoops a handful of
Wet, gritty, white
masa speckled black and brown.

You see, no matter how white the maíz,
prietitos still swirl in there
like cobalt blue
ribbons round golden
Moroccan sunflowers.

Her hands,
the color of wet earth,
dig out balls
the size of her heart.

With eyes closed and
between both hands,
she rolls and pats.
Pats and rolls until she hears
Malintzin, palmaditas
and copper palomitas
flutter and flatten
maíz wider
and wider until
her lifeline hangs
swaying in the wind.

M.E. Wakamatsu was born and raised on the U.S.-Mexico border. She is the recipient of the University of Arizona Poetry Center’s Mary Ann Campau Fellowship Inaugural Award and a Southern Arizona Teacher of the Year Scarlet & Gray Award from The Ohio State University Alumni of Southern Arizona. Wakamatsu’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Sonoran Desert: A Literary Field Guide, This Piece of Earth: Images and Words from Tumamoc Hill, Spiral Orb, Cantos al Sexto Sol, Southwestern Women: New Voices, Drunken Boat, and Read, Listen, Tell: Indigenous Stories from Turtle Island.  

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