POETRY

Letting

Mt-Rainier-Washington-state-USA

Letting

Apple trees sleep in the sand.

Turquoise tidings greet my chest.

Corn tortillas graze my fingers, hot on the iron surface.

My black hair shines.

In the city my feet pace street food.

They call me gringa here.

As I squint North to Mt. Rainier, they call me other things there.

I forgive them in the melting snow, in light of the Pacific Ocean.

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