shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Sara Borjas

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I don't remember the sounds rising
from my body, when my mother calls me míja
over the phone. But my vertebrae, made of confusion
chow mein and stars feel saucy today. And even though
my lips are rusted, I hear my mother speak Spanish
and the gold loops spiral in me. The caldo
de res the chopped carrots the no measure
cooking the stiff broom good
for corners the stubborn
apology the mangled
love the cacti
in my molcajete
body my first
galaxy my