Marc Anthony on a Summer Day
Tio points to the sky and says there are cracks in it.
I squint my eyes as Tio gestures to a chemtrail or
maybe a cloud, thin and wispy, pale against paler blue.
Mami says his corneas have scratches and they laugh.
There’s a pig in the ground roasting, Tios drinking Old Styles,
primos floating in the blue plastic pool, los viejos playing
the click click click of dominoes, Abuela is winning;
Marc Anthony: voy a reír, voy a bailar, vivir mi vida,
Tio leans close to me, he points to his eyes,
so brown they’re almost blue, he makes them wide
“They say I’m crazy. Let them think it. Pero puedo ver.”
He shakes with his laugh, pats my shoulder, I look to the sky.
He says there are ufos but I think maybe I am the one
unidentified, a part and apart of the music, the food,
the culture that runs through my veins, I hear the beat
but I can’t translate it, it vibrates in my chest; Marc Anthony:
A veces llega la lluvia, para limpiar las heridas,
a veces solo una gota, puede vencer la sequía,
If I laugh, if I dance, if I live my life, can the rain
wash away all the hurt? Can I find myself home?
Tio stares at the sky and I stare with him.
When he looks back at me, sé que soy visto.
By Yesenia M Coughlin
Yesenia M Coughlin is a junior creative writing major at the University of Central Florida.