Sketch of My Sister’s Visit Last Night

So déjame

contarte

un cuento, una historia

es que

lluvia    rain       agh       what’s the word                     tey tey

at?                       eltiw? Ateltiw?

Last night, Atelti came after class. Siempre sabes when she’s here because you hear hail on the

windows, the flapping of the leaves, las hojas, ne iswat AND ne kwajkwawit, los árboles, trees

I figure I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that she visited

seeing how dark I was, un ichan of  negro, of  zájtik.

And zájtik isn’t bad. Sometimes it brings rainbows, arco irises, kusamalut

Atelti told me something she heard in El Salvador, algo de mis abuelos y abuelas, both alive and dead

              Ne muyut shipanu sempa pal ne kali pal ne takamet, siwatket,

              Ajkawat ne neshti ka ne ejekat tik ne weytepet, ne tiupan,

              Ne ilwikat, ken titajtani — tzalan ne ashal, ne apan, ne ujti

              The fly enters every house of man, woman

              leaving ashes to wind for the volcano, church

              Sky, how do you ask — in between sand, river, road

So what does it mean? Where’s the answer at the end? The moral?

The hail rattling outside: clattaraka araka araka araka araka — cla ttaraka taraka taraka taraka taraka

taraka ka ka ka kuh kuh

and me without my raincoat.

“Don’t be outside by the time I leave,” I said.

“Y qué,” she said as more hail hit the windows, a few pellets falling onto the carpet inside.

And it continued.

And she added some rain a bit after.

When it was time to leave

I stepped outside

it still rained

and was offered an umbrella to the car

which I refused.

Mi hermana, Atelti, was there to stay. So I thought, “Get   wet.

If  you’re so desperate

Talk

Dígame”

And she rained

                                                                                   And vapor seeped out from my buttons