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they don't tell you that about borders,
how they break you in half until you're never enough for either side.
I asked mami who she would be had she the money, time, and education. had she not had me.
a therapist, she says, I am always helping people.
and it's hard imagining mami as a therapist. taking notes in a classroom. hopping on the train towards prebysterian hospital, or her own office, instead of upstate for cleaning jobs, dyckman or the heights to bartend and waitress, or local salons to sell knock-off purses. it's hard imagining mami talking fluent english, owning a house, with a husband, and without me.
may the bachata songs we never danced to receive the ovation they deserve
especially from lovers who know better than we did
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