Poetry

Caper's Poets

Rosalita (some thoughts at Granny’s Funeral) — Kenneth Karrer

Granny never liked Rosalita.

She did not like the jet-black,

Shining hair or

Those beautiful flowing tresses

Covering the entire back of

Her pastel quincenera dresses.

“Vulgar little girl,” she’d seethe.

So imagine how she loathed the day

When I’d learned enough

Spanish to say,

“That girl”

was mi chica especial …mi carina.

And how she frowned when I said

Rosalita was like the water for my

Chocolate.

Que lastima!

To Granny, brown sugar was coarse stuff…

Unrefined. And “Mexican”

Sounded like something dirty

In her mouth.

So imagine my surprise when

I heard from Auntie Dee that she had spent some

Summers in her younger years

“Down South,” and that the

Dallas Ladies Club had

Once chastised her for

Being too friendly with

Juan…

Her gardener.

Lo percaron en las tunas,

Con las manas coloradas.*

(* They caught her in the prickly pear patch with her hands all red.)

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Filed under: Issue 2, Kenneth Karrer

Breakfast at Neruda’s — Kenneth Karrer

Your wetness dripped down

my chin

like

bee dulce

honeyed, warmed

from my favorite

sopapilla.

Dusted

by baby powdered

sugar.

You let me

In,

mi sancha.

I just love to

move up

to your table.

 

Filed under: Issue 2, Kenneth Karrer

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