One day, when your fluttering arms reach
around the full mountain of me,
I’ll tell you how a chirp past your first year,
we soared far from our predictable streets and toxic leaders
to where la gente muy amable showered you in sweets:
princesa, muñeca, so you learned to walk in song; we feasted
on helados y jugos naturales, and I insisted you keep
my hand for the cobblestones—bruised and on your first pair
of everything, but your legs grew sturdy on uneven ground.
Arms raised, you held spirits, trusted your innocent feet,
so you drifted like clouds through the Andes, greeted
Hola, sailed to every street dog in the main square,
rode on their backs like horses—you, a being tied to nowhere.
My darling, we woke to the bed quaking, stillness unleashed—
but still your legs shine sturdy on uneven ground.
