in the middle of full-bodied days
you’ll watch the boys play fútbol
their shoulders arched like God
plucked them from their sockets,
the sun a dry eye.
the sun is crescented like heaven-
like their eagle-feather skin, your
& they yell their graveyard yells
(mama, somethin’ must be dyin’!)
& you can’t help but bubble laughter
like an ocean’s crying.
you’re young & you still don’t know
that wait (esperar) & hope (esperar)
taste the same.
when you’re old you will only
hope to wait, to not be shot by
white-eyed up-tights & los chismosos,
no, racism deserves a grosser word
than digression. espera que you will
be more than dark hips, stuck-slick
espera hasta they’re head
By Talia Flores
Talia Flores is the recipient of the 2015 Texas Book Festival Fiction Prize and has been recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. Her work appears or is forthcoming in National Poetry Quarterly, Words Dance, Souvenir Lit Journal, Gigantic Sequins, and more. She was a mentee in The Adroit Journal’s Mentorship Program, and she works as a reader for Polyphony H.S. and as an editorial intern for The Blueshift Journal. She will be attending Stanford University in the fall.