Kendra Preston Leonard
There’s gold in your mines, Brazil:
the gold from Avó’s teeth.
There’s silver to be found in the mud:
the necklace my irmã always wore.
My sisters, my cousins, the canteen cook,
your father, her brothers, their aunts,
the house the teacher lived in,
the store that had the best acarajé,
now become the new place to mine.
The headboard of lattice
above the mud-crushed bed,
the glasses and tires and helmets,
the lunchbags and pencils and cups
Have you found bronze, bombieros,
searching for all you can find?
That might be Tio’s medal,
the one he wore for luck.
I see the helicopters hover
with bodies in their nets
bringing a funeral
to those who wait
in the graveyard.
We all carry the coffins
thought they’re not always full
a box brings consolation
to the grieving.
Is there a hand in your net, with a ring, bombieros?
A ring with a date inside?
Perhaps you have found my amante.
Show me, and I will know.