Azúcar (Sugar)
Nina Israel Zucker
When I opened my eyes that Tuesday morning
the dust had already started to slant in towards my face
and I knew it was later than I wanted it to be.
The plan was to leave in the dark,
if I got an early start the policia might not be out yet,
the dogs might still be tucked in beside their owners,
my wife not up yet, making café, tortillas, huevos.
But the colors are what I miss the most,
pale yellow and pink, the painted and chipped sea blue.
When I walk down the street in my new town,
my eye catches colors and my stomach clenches.
Here is the auto repair shop where I work,
here is the nice older man who tries to speak to me in Spanish,
here is the Chinese man who comes in once a month
pulling his cart full of pirated music and movies,
here is the bay where a seal might get caught in the spring,
mistaking the warming channel for a path to the ocean.
We run out in our greased overalls, holding metal tools,
whistling for the lost animal to turn
and look at us with the eyes of a mermaid.
On Mondays I walk to the post office
and buy a money order to send home.
