Lupita Eyde-Tucker – Alausí 1941

Lupita Eyde-Tucker

ALAUSÍ 1941

I want to know what she saw             that day on the train,
tallest man in a land of patuchos                What coal-fired

sentence picked up enough steam             for her to agree
to elope?        Abuelito        when his name was Guillermo

was a scandalous choice           She was in a hurry, maybe
she fell in love with his hands, two bulldozers that chewed

whole mountains to lay her a road                    I can hear
her heart pounding                     step faster until she flew

Abuelita            when her name was Deifília           desired
heavy machinery                       to tear out stubborn roots

Daughter of God          pretending to be an orphan. She—
golden menorah wrapped in a blanket—                      she

a whispered psalm recited        from memory,          folded
like a white handkerchief          in Guillermo’s shirt pocket. 

Lupita Eyde-Tucker writes and translates poetry in English and Spanish. Her poems have recently appeared in Nashville Review, Columbia Journal, Raleigh Review, Women’s Voices for Change, [PANK], Night Heron Barks, Jet Fuel Review, American Life in Poetry and are forthcoming in Best New Poets 2022, MER and The Cortland Review. A third-year MFA student in Poetry at the University of Florida, Lupita has received fellowships and institutional support from Kentucky Women Writers Conference, Bread Loaf Writers Conferences, the New York State Summer Writers Institute, and Vermont Studio Center. Read more of her work here: www.NotEnoughPoetry.com