When I see the names Lizette and Charra,
Beatrix and Teo, I think of girls
with cocoa powder rubbed into their cheeks,
with summer stained on their brow.
I think of hail storms in a dessert and other
unexpected, glorious miracles. I see callused
hands and songs sung in words I can't
understand, but I try so hard to piece them
together in my mind because in a moment,
they'll be gone, and I'll be left here with
only words on a page.