We’re saying goodbye too soon – to our cafes and treats,
the people who’ve become home in this strange beautiful place
that breathes life and grace upon our existence.
The city is chalk full – dog poop lining the streets,
high top shoes busting ankles on mostly finished pavement,
thieves that stalk in the night, too carefree you dance, old friends and recent
acquaintances all eager to enjoy a boliche as night and day tango on a corner.
My body had begun embedding – the subte knew my quick step,
the corners awaited my turns, the elevator anticipated the weight of me,
the dining room table grew cold without the heat of my laptop;
I smiled as a walked by the flower stand on my street, I enjoyed the daily anfitrón
brother debriefs, I walked in the rain and was at peace, I wore my bright pants.
A uniqueness emanates – buildings stretched towards the edges of the city,
streets etched with traces of its past: Spanish grids and patios,
French domes and churches, Italian art and pavilions; those porteños
cling to their European ancestry, draping themselves with falsities and ideologies
long desaparecido, disappeared into the dashed dreams of a once wealthy nation
as the present churns and topples and waits for prosperity to return.
Tourists come in droves – the historical cemetery where Evita Peron lays rest,
the sixty cent empanadas, the sprawling parks with their statues,
the long meals at eccentric cafes where wait staff ask three or four times
if anything else is wanted and they give ample time for the belly to make room
for dessert; the quiet hustle surprises them, the strategically sporadic street art
leaves them in awe, the rapid-fire Spanish spoken at a mumble creates a perpetual
state of bewilderment, their presence stains the city and its citizens.
A place of dreams – Buenos Aires is a memory slithering to the recesses of my brain,
I replay the images, recall the feelings, and turnover the audio of an ever-changing
moment in time; Buenos Aires felt like home, a comfort that developed and spread,
with faces that gathered the air and warmed it, laughter that hugged the gut, nights
that readjusted significance; Buenos Aires contained the awkward: silences
that crawled from the corners, stares that elevated the intensity at which one can
ignore the minds’ awareness of itself, the gradual decline of language abilities; Buenos
Aires will remain untouched yet altered, in the sliver of mind where I’ll keep year 20.
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<p>I'm a Political Economics major in her third year in college. I originate from New Orleans, Louisiana and grew up in Seattle, Washington, so I love to cook and bake, as well as hike. I try to be a politically active black female and enjoy going to poetry slams and readings; I even have a secret dream of performing at one some day. I have a love for movies and novels alike.</p>