matamoros By Julianna Salinas

The Rising Phoenix Review

April 6

matamoros

like twin sisters separated by bloody divorce
whose children no longer speak the same language

little concrete house whose red terra cotta tiles
keep our feet cool in the summer

in the kitchen las tías are making tortillas with the ancestral press
you get used to the taste of iron

abuelita tweezes tiny cactus needles from the back of my arm
in a chair old enough to be her mother

in the kitchen las tías are making tortillas talking shit about anamaria
her hair is too long her skirt is too short she'll never find a good man

on the last day of every year bullets fall from the sky like raindrops
that pierce rooftops and land on the dog's head

in the kitchen las tías are smoking cigarettes and drinking tequila
their fingertips are missing from flipping tortillas

there's a line on the bridge that divides texas and tamaulipas
when we get to the middle we're in two places at once

que dios te bendiga

By Julianna Salinas

Biography:

Julianna Salinas is a Texas-born Mexican-American poet and nonfiction writer based in New York City. She holds a BFA in Creative Writing from Brooklyn College, where she was the recipient of the Academy of American Poets University and College Poetry Prize and the Louis B. Goodman Creative Writing Award.