I never thought I'd live this long
and have invented many lives. I lost my best friend to Aids and my country to a madman. I knew my mother had a temper and learned to walk on eggshells. She woke me up with espresso and read to me in bed. I stared at paintings until I knew them by heart until they were family, friends, lovers. I spent my childhood in the kitchen so I could listen to Belen and always thought I'd see her again. I love old movies and still cry when people say goodbye. I've felt the breath of spring in Central Park and walked the length of Manhattan in the sweet comfort of anonymity. I married my soulmate and found the missing half of my brain. I paid my dues in Bakersfield, where bumper stickers are stories and belt buckles, poems I was the daughter my mother had hoped for but didn't become the woman she expected. I saw Iguassu Falls and was certain I'd seen God.
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