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Bailar
She dances.
Ribbons of a tissue dress
Wiping the floor with cherry red
Mama’s handmade fuego
Stitches of tender passion
“Baila, Baila mijita”
Hips mercilessly tearing through linings
Of buttery guitar strings
And an inky bun to match
Can’t stop- she’s boarding the dream train
She runs head first into
A ferocious junkyard of gray dreams
Where a congregation of menacing mice
Threaten to intrude with tiny bites of failure
Even then, “Si, se puede”
She heeds the sound of fiery salsa
Even when exhaustion hammers
Its desperate nails
And feet lose their direction
This is willpower, this is strength.
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