kidding me

Not like on google maps from Missouri to Utah,

but on a taped-up piece of paper with rippled highlights

and a dizzy six-piece grid, Argentina begins all at once,

a red list of tangled names from people avoiding

or feeding us. Calles and streets.

—Cual street, my companion says in her Latina Spanglish.

—Zalaya! I say, smoothing our area map.

I remember the children, brown and running like wild horses.

I forgot the smell, a cacophony of Peruvian cocinas.

I forgot the doors, each thin, pocked with holes like cheese swiss.

I forgot how small the “houses” are.

—Can we share a message?

—No, gracias.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

[Knock, wait, next door.]

—Podemos compartir un mensaje?

—Todavía no.

[Knock, wait, next door.]

—Can we…

—Si Dios quiere!

But the young girl. That I don’t remember overlooking

until we invite her to listen.

We’ve crossed Rivadavia, 25 de Mayo, Mansilla and Sarmiento,

belting out the hymns we know. “O Creaciones del Senor,”

your favorite street song, seconded only by “Tengo Gozo

en mi Alma Hoy.” We alter the words, singing Tengo hambre

en mi alma hoy and remember the large Elder who loved to sing

about la semilla que hoy sembramos.

But crossing the train tracks, we don’t feel like harmonizing.

La gente rough and jagged, smoking drugs and stray dogs

curled at their feet, the bottom of our feet sweaty like bars of soap,

circles of trash curled into the metal tracks and pebbles;

“que bueno”—el tren will send them skyward like fall leaves.

Even more graffiti-showered walls grappling with pale English words, more fences and

more cobblestone streets or tile sidewalks with women mopping the concrete and

hosing down the tiles. We’ll visit Hermana Mansilla, eat Papa la Huancaína, Lomo

Saltado, Ají de Gallina, Ceviche, y más.

I know when I fly home everything will melt into English. Vamos, says my companion

here; at home they’ll say Let’s go.

Me esta cargando, the Portenos proclaim. There they’ll say

You’ve got to be kidding me.