about a Latin woman's hands;
they are like a conductor's baton;
at one moment a weapon,
at another, a loud instrument.
She calls me "Cerro Gordo"
for some reason,
and kisses me with
hot tears and broken mirrors.
She is a winter that refuses
to surrender to spring.
The Greek call it Meraki,
The Greek call it Meraki,
which literally means "essence of ourselves".
The actual translation represents a concept
that cannot be translated in one word
but it means "something done with one's soul,
with creativity, effort and a lot of love."
After soulful empanadas,
she beats her loud Spanish hands
on my chest, begging,
for more of me,
and I want to give her
the essence of myself,
but I question my Meraki.