by Mallory Dickson
Let your kids belong!
Get them out of their casas and cuartos
and into a friend’s beat-up Chevy lleno de
music, not bachata but country
guitarras swaying to blonde hombres and chicas.
And when you cook chicken, rice, and beans
and cook them you must, give it to the abuelos.
Slip dollars into brown hands
venturing through the electric arches
of fast food and fake Hispanic buffets.
Let them play football, the American
kind, and leave their soccer balls olvidadas.
Fifteen is no longer the fiesta, Hola is no
longer a serious greeting.
Forget your abrazos and warm latino
soul. Shake hands instead, when
absolutely necessary.
They’ll thank you for the neutral colors,
the white hips and flat r’s.
Soon they will forget the meaning of their names.
-After Frank O’Hara
From a young age Mallory Dickson has been fascinated with books and writing, pulling her parent’s library collection off the shelves and flipping through each book one by one as a child. She has worked on a fantasy trilogy for over seven years, dabbles in poetry, and writes creative essays. She is a senior at Brigham Young University, studying English with an editing minor.
