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migrating birds :: mónica de la torre

by on November 4, 2016

Victor got a real sense of power
from making his own raisins. He’d buy
pounds and pounds of grapes
and leave them to dry
on the kitchen table.

Theresa didn’t want to hear about
her ex-husband’s cancer. Not on Father’s Day.
She took a train all night
to have breakfast with her cousin.
All Sunday she rode the train back.

Once Martin’s wife had left,
he decided to take advantage of her space.
He built a sauna where her closet was,
sat there every morning, to read the paper
and Buddha.

One night Helga wore her prettiest dress,
though she knew he wouldn’t be there.
She drank dry white, got drunk
(she was on a diet), and fell down.
Later he saw the holes in her pantyhose.

María was usually bumping into
furniture. Each time she got closer to what
she wanted. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” he replied, so she took off
and felt like migrating birds. But many.

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