Sancocho y Cafecito de la Tarde: Poems by Fior E. Plasencia, Mujer con Voz

Sancocho y Cafecito de la Tarde: Poemas de Fior E. Plasencia, Mujer con Voz

Guest post by Fior E. Plasencia



The soup tasted like a brand new computer
You know, it’s like when you infuse things
like anger into someone’s heart when
they are as sweet as a pan dulce
-buy me some green plantains, yautía, and cilantro
-buy me some beef, make sure it doesn’t look old
-buy me some yucca, green peppers and onions
-with whatever is left, buy a candle, today is Sunday
mami screams from the 3rd floor
I noticed
the supermarket was a cell
All the vegetable were segregated
Nothing was naturally colored
it was all colored to look perfectly natural
I wonder what kind of mask the factory workers wore
I closed
my eyes and remembered my mom’s grocery list
I saw a gigantic robot digging a hole
in there he placed a sack of dólares

then he covered it with cemento
outside there was a “no traspassing” sign

I opened
my eyes, I wished it was Victor,
our neighbor, the guy with a big sombrero
-who we knew all our lives
was the one garnering the crops
providing them with love when they needed it
and enough sol, so they could flourish
and then he would rinse them with water from the river
put them in a canasta and traernos los vegetales to our house
Mom served the sanchocho – a traditional Dominican soup
she did all she could so it could taste like home
just a little of the space between her breast and the sea that watched her grow
She was disappointed to eat something that reminds her of a
new technology that she couldn’t learn,
and was forced to use it.


Cafecito de la Tarde

Cada cosita tiene un sabor a ti.
Cada cosa.
Te dejo ir volando,

a un árbol de almohadas blandas y
ramas bailarinas azules pálidas con maméis.
Antes de irte,
tu cafecito con nuez moscada

 de la tarde en la mesa ya está respirando.
Al saborear sus gotas marrones,

entiendo que,
estás metido como arena en el cristal-
en esas cositas que se manifiestan en grande y que hablan solas.
El cafecito está colado en tus ojos,
y en mi ADN
aunque anden tus pies flotando
en el ruido del amanecer

@mujerconvoz_poetry /

Hola, Rita2 Comments