When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.
The following poem was translated from Zarpamos, a selection ofpoems by the Oaxacan poet Guadalupe Ángela, translated from Spanishinto English by Yael Kiken. This...
Ode to Mama’s Mac and Cheese
A recipe passed downfrom her Mamawhen she was twenty-fourand hungry.
Some kind of tomatoes,whatever noodles you can find,and any cheese...
