but here is how we name the birds, says Kawenniostha
in Kanienkeha: by the sounds, by their voices
how they talk about the weather
yoro, yoro on an overcast day
From my childhood, I remember the slides from Park Missouri, the green aluminum rocket that smelled like piss, rides where I would go round and round, gripping the iron bars, like a Papantla Flyer, but upside down. If you weren’t careful, the chains would hit you.
I remember stopping on the highway and going to a restaurant in Villa de Santiago
You spill,
end of delight,
a translucent initial in my pelvis,
Go back, go home, go away with your language
In my land, only order takeaway with your language
ਤੂੰ ਇਤਨਾ ਛੱਪਰ ਛੱਪਰ ਦੱਸੇ ਤੋ ਸਮਝ ਕਿੱਥੋ ਆਵੇ
We’re traveling to the little farm our grandparents built in the middle of the vineyards. With feet used to the dried up rhythm of our tired city, Minu and Rumbi will step, for the first time, into the simple world of vegetables, fruits, and farm animals.
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