Pareidolia
the number three appeared
in a cloud as clear and tangible
as the Esso sign
at the corner
of Betances and Gautier
in the car on the way to school
riding with one of my fathers
the sign of the petrol station
always helped me distinguish
the number three from the letter E
now i know what the cloud
tried to tell me,
that the 3 and the letter E
are the things i no longer have
their voices filled my narrow world,
the cultivated chatter of medicine
and litigation,
in a cumulous baritone
that shouted verses of Darío
but not Neruda
—ese comunista
the oldest set me straight
for nuns and school,
the youngest to the movies
— mira, que cómico es Cantinflas
to show me the México he missed
and I didn’t remember
and there was one,
the one I loved best,
whose too wide shoulders folded
to showed me how to use a blade of grass
to catch anoles and reveries
but like that cloud over Boardman,
dispersing softly into nothingness
one by one they went—
First, was Paco, whose cheek, like adiabatic cooling,
left a hardened tenderness on my lips
as his body was carted away by a nurse
—this isn’t good for you, she said
as she ushered me out of the room
out of my begging for him to stay
Then, was Moisés. Whose last breath
carried his bride’s name
in his untimely death, he took
the memory of my birth
and the songs
—México lindo y querido
si muera lejos de ti…
and Euclides, whose every atom
was my atmosphere,
my cloudless sky,
he is the one,
from whom I still
had so much to learn
the one who should have stayed
Amelia Díaz Ettinger is a Latinx BIPOC poet and writer. Amelia’s poetry and short stories have been published in anthologies, literary magazines, and periodicals. She has an MS in Biology and MFA in creative writing. Her literary work is a marriage of science and her experience as an immigrant. Presently, she resides in Eastern Oregon.
