Poem Hunter
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Poem By Sunny Albright

When god split mangos
on the Sierra Madres
and scooped the pulp
onto the horizon
we walked into the shop
where the crooked eyed abuela
sells sorrows as souvenirs.

Along the shelves
of colored shells and curios
we found the perfect pair
of mismatched glasses
and took them home
to drink fresh water
until our bellies burned.

I remember as we
wrapped each fragile tragedy
in salty t-shirts
I saw her touch our coins
to a nail by the register
and black birds spit
across the sky like seeds.

User Rating: 3,5 / 5 ( 3 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

Very scenic and O so Mexican.good picturesque write-I gave you a ten! ! ! ! !