Cover and
Copyright Page

Marisol,
Iguana Woman

Man of Steel

Todos Colgados

Fridays
at Western Union

Grave Revelation

Celulistas

Cubreviento

Preludio
a Nezahualcoyotl

Sometimes
They Can Read Lips

Already She Knows

GRAVE REVELATION

You hurried down
the street towards our house
leaving a trace of Tabú
perfume in the air.
The black umbrella dwarfed
you, shaded your fair
skin, creamy as the candles
on your altar
to la Virgen Morena

Thursday meriendas
were a treat.  Your eyes,
blue like the Virgen Mary's
mantle, glowed as you
dunked conchas in the coffee,
and reminisced with my mother.
"Did you ever fall
madly in love?" I asked,
my eyes round as your
glasses.  "Once," you said
fiddling with the
clasp on your black bag
Then you smiled 
and talked about
dances, tertulias,
and the dresses over
crinolines that rustled
as you waltzed to
"Over the Waves."

Now you lie
a virgin
in your coffin,
skin wrinkled like
the wedding gown that
shrouds your body.
I’m reminded by
the words "forgive me"
in the yellowed letter

between your cold hands
that the bell
has not yet
tolled for me.


                               —by Raquel Valle-Sentíes