Aurea in Orocovis, 1962

KAITLINN ROSE

She’s framed in the swale

of the hills

behind her, while the wind’s hands

 

sweep her hair, thrumming

each strand.

Nostrils wide like she must have inhaled

 

sour fumes, eyes near closed, her copper skin

bathing

in a torrent sun. They say I look

 

like her now as she did then, but I don’t

know the woman

tucked between valleys, I only know Abuela

 

singing to me as I lay on her lap

sana, sana, colita

de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

sand hills

Kaitlinn Rose is a writer and editor in New York City, where she currently resides. She recently completed her MFA from Columbia University concentrating in poetry and cross genre writing. Her poetry focuses on drug addiction and recovery, on which she also presented during her TEDx Talk in March 2017 on Long Island, NY.

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