The Other Things We Swallow
A is for the American
beast who devoured my mother.
C is for the coyotes that wander
desert and mountain, looking to lick the bones
of abandoned chuco women.
E is for el, el hombre, el macho, que se
come la mujer con tortilla de harina.
F is for finger-lickin’ good.
G is for God, or the Goya painting of a
hungry god devouring his son. Once,
I watched a rattlesnake swallow a bird whole,
jaw open wide as a hungry god.
K is for the kiss that draws blood.
Little did I know, the bird had asked to be swallowed,
so it could find its way back to its mother.
M is for mother, mama, who taught me to pick a bird to the bone,
to gnaw on its cartilage, and suck the marrow dry.
O is for hoyo. I dream the bird is born again,
pecking a hole into the center of my palm.
Quieta, dejo que el pájaro coma de mi mano.
R is for the rocks that my mother swallowed, to ease her hunger.
S is for the other things we swallow: bones, feathers, birds,
flesh, beasts, sons, and mothers.
T is for tortillas de harina, me dejé comer.
U is for undone belts, or the undoing of mothers.
V is for the vulture that scours the desert,
pecking at a thigh or a breast.
W is for that wilderness, a wild American beast consumes,
exhilarated.
Y is for the yearning.
Z is for the zapote fruit, sweet and rotting on the branch,
devoured by the same beast
over and over again.
Originally from El Paso, TX, Natalia Martinez is a creative writing MFA student at Florida International University. Her writing has been featured in Laurus, Bellingham Review, and is forthcoming in Mid-American Review. She has received recognition from the AWP Intro Journals Award, Florida International University, and the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. She now resides in Miami, Florida by way of the Great Plains.
