The Quinta

Published in the Fall 2019 issue of the Finger Literary Journal.

unload the first box here,
between scorched palms and
cracked tiles. you
gutted your home with
precision
like an avocado. wrapped
children’s paint-slicked handprints in
soft cotton. you
were never sedentary before
our arrival.
in the nearest town—
a cathedral built
on the ruins of a mosque
under the watermelon sky. its presence
is a legacy threaded through
my father’s bones. this land
is sacred, blackened by summer
wildfires and winter’s blue bite. unload
the first box here; hand-carved
wood from past homes. the globe
is conical and this is the point
where you will finally rest. my
father’s eyes watch you over the rim
of his laptop. you say it looks like the
horizon. he says you are
as beautiful as that first night
almost thirty years ago. orange-picking
in the morning and a picnic in
the afternoon. go back to a time
before new york, london, before the crash
and the distance. before dubai and
bahrain. this place is timeless;
you may unravel and
you may not. the choice is
finally yours.

The Finger Literary Journal is based in Canandaigua, NY. You can find their recent publications here.