Thank you Label Me Latina/o for publishing my poem (below) in the spring 2015 issue.
I actually wrote this poem many years ago but recently dusted it off and sent it out into the world. I also wrote an essay about Elenita, which maybe I will post sometime soon. It covers what this poem covers, along with more about why I remembered her so well, why she pierced my memory long after I left Mexico.
I hope this version at least tells you a story, which is what my favorite poems do.
Present Tense
My student, Elenita, won't learn past tense.
She winds her lipsticked mouth
around words, chews the verb ends
into peppermint gum.
She shakes off the “ed” as easily
as she tosses her auburn hair.
For her it's a tense of failure:
tried, wanted, wasn't.
I frown and shake my head;
she shrugs with eyelash flutter.
She slinks
into my English
language class
in tight shirts,
hips snug in jeans,
hair pressed straight, in place.
She slides into Fernando's crook of arm
and giggles into his eyes.
She is present and perfect
this Torreón spring
as she saunters from class
with Fernando clutching
her books.
She leans into the flap
of his black shirt
and they disappear
into yellow desert sky.
Tonight I will read her essay,
the small, still words a sigh
of ink—
nothing to shove the crook
of Fernando’s arm open
like the latch on a gate
giving way.
Please note: This poem first appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Label Me Latina/o.