At the Whataburger on Yarbrough,
my father buys me a junior meal
and tells me of the barn
he burned down as a boy
playing with a matchbox
in dry wood;
it occurs to me my father
was born as I was born,
the color of bright maize
and soft as a tortilla,
crude-leafed and tender-skinned;
my father does not speak of animals,
of burning flesh or any tortured sound,
instead, he speaks of tall plumes
and floating ash,
of running, as a young boy does,
from the pith
of an irrevocable act.
–
Natalia Martinez, originally from El Paso, TX, is a creative writing MFA student at Florida International University. Her writing has been featured or is forthcoming in Bellingham Review, Mid-American Review, West Trade Review, and Ninth Letter. She has received recognition for the AWP Intro Journals Award and was runner-up for the Academy of American Poets Prize at FIU. She now resides in Miami, by way of the Great Plains.