I Meet My Grandfather For The First Time In The Vestibule of Golden Corral in El Paso, TX

by: Natalia Martinez

 

He is leaving as I enter with my father,

macho holds together

the frame of his softening bones.

He brings with him

the smell of ash

and sun-dried clothing.

He is tall and leather-skinned,

real as a vaquero hat,

wide-brimmed and monstrous

before me.

 

I do not listen

to the talk of grown men,

instead, I begin to count gumballs

and other colorful sweets

crammed tightly

into coin-slot machines

and map the geometry

of painted tiles at my feet.

 

I pull away from my father’s hand,

uninterested in conversation,

or coincidence,

or the yellowing

teeth of this strange man.

 

When my father finally asks

if I know who this man is,

{which is not to be mistaken with

do I know this man,

or

of this man

or

if it is him

who I belong to}

 

I shake my head,

no.

 

When my father tells me who he is,

I hear it as true,

not true as the snap of bone

or

the ground cracking open

from thirst,

but as the quiet metal

plunk

of a gumball.

 

 

About the Author

Originally from El Paso, TX, Natalia Martinez is an MFA creative writing student at Florida International University. She enjoys writing most about her childhood home in the borderlands. Her writing has been featured in Laurus, Bellingham Review, and has received recognition from AWP, Florida International University, and the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. She now resides in Miami, Florida by way of the Great Plains.