Jacqueline Balderrama

And color is the first reason

it seems I must learn Spanish.

Much is left in dark waters after light.
Light warps into water’s quivering patterns.

There are different kinds of desire under this red umbrella,
beneath the slender trees.

To make pinwheels and paper rosettes, I’m told

to begin with squares and rectangles, pulling

edges into the center. They spin like they have forgotten
this origin of steps. We too forget our feet.

I could live in this garden.

With fruit trees, with vegetables,
this is a working land.

Think of soup—as a child pulling leaves, berries, grass,
the child stirring a pail for dinner.

Jacqueline Balderrama is pursuing a PhD in literature and creative writing at the University of Utah. She serves as poetry editor for Iron City Magazine. Her work has appeared in Cream City Review, Blackbird, and other journals.