Last Photograph Of My Parents

By Ruben Quesada

Tortillas clap against floured palms,
steaming bowls of avena, frijoles
black as the rumbling sky,
arroz con pollo simmers. Against the kitchen
 
window, small clouds rise. Papá dances
to the electric beat of the marimba,
his cheek bristly against Mamá’s
neck; his thick fingers sift
 
through her wispy hair. I am nowhere
to be found, neither in the foreground nor
background. Today I sit in this chair,
in the corner of my house, covered
with a poncho of blue flowers,
looking out at asphalt roads overflowing
with rain, fogging the glass. Along the road,
steam rises like blotchy fingerprints.
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
Get On The List
We'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
SIGN UP NOW!
Get On The List
We'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
SIGN UP NOW!