Genre: Life, Work
Office Politics by Luke Wilson Lucas
Luz let me listen to her son’s message,
A brief statement of his arrival: “Mami, soy yo…”
The rest lost in a gargle of argot and elisions,
And her eyes crinkled with delight at my puzzlement—
To my ear it could have been Cantonese.
This during a time, between her fourth and her fifth husband,
When I read out loud to her, some of Garcia Marquez,
When she would patiently correct my pronunciation,
Telling me the meaning of certain words,
Digressing at times to personal associations…
Like when she and one other girl stole into the convent garment room,
Rummaged among the clothing, first swathing their torsos,
In long, running girdles, then donning the tunics, scapulars, coifs…
And looking at themselves in a swivel mirror,
Hugging each other with mocking astonishment,
Before sliding out of the habits to slip away undiscovered.
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