El Tercer Oído (The Third Ear)
by Sofia Angulo-Lopera
latinos always break in the same place.
eden’s backyard,
my mother is cleaning god’s lovely white marble staircase,
polishing His filigree gold doorknobs and taking out the trash,
cooking rice and steaming meat and tossing a salad of greens.
brushing aside the mangled spinal cord of ancestry, my father bends
to offer me his back.
god loves me best because I look like him
and require a full tube of sleazy sunscreen to survive
scorching spring break beaches.
because the cellulite on my thighs is the same
eggshell white he pours over misbehaving angels
and funeral processions.
a dutiful daughter who wants her parents to survive
ties their mouths shut with fibrous yucca chords and
writes their emails, checks their texts.
when her mami and papi are offering their backs in god’s greenhouse
she takes off her shoes and says gracias.
because this system will use you as a check mark,
as a decimal point
and promotional photograph.
o, sofito, no sabes,
latinos always break in the same place.