Every time I call my mother
I learn about the weather,
the unforgiving sun crippling the yellow plains,
the sermon at Sunday’s mass,
the full prescription record for her cold,
my father’s second glass of whiskey.
I feel a tender anger.
I recall the frost,
the week’s sharp evenings,
the heartbreak of this filthy winter,
the mellow memory of my aunt.
The town’s fair lanterns torch
in my stomach
as I mute and nod and remain absent
in a hand-crafted field of serene soil
where you could harvest all trouble.
Alicia Fernández was born in Spain and works in Leeds as a translator. Her poems have been featured online by Sleepy House Press and included in the anthology Freefall by Wellhouse Publications. Her first solo pamphlet will be published by Half Moon Books (formerly Otley Word Feast Press) in September.