Mal de Ojo
I study her hip bones, midday.
Something crackles through the trees—no, a withering.
I let the last malanga rot on the counter because it is easier
not to have to cut another thing open.
Bulls in my blood, pawing. The winter of it all.
Days later, I make another woman my enemy.
I follow her for three blocks before I trip over my envy,
forget to lessen myself. When I hit the sidewalk,
I feel my mother fall in Florida, and her mother, the same.
But I am smaller now than I was then.
Please, do not ask about my thens.
—Leslie Sainz
—found in Have You Been Long Enough At Table (2023)