I heard the nurses’ laughter. I could see them rub the hems / Of their skirts into their bottle-cap glasses while translating / My new parents’ imagination. 

yo se perder, yo se perder / black as a young moon, I / am spoken to in English, / the third tongue, / final conquest, never mistaken / for indigenous, never pain, / never daughter of woman / who hums mariachi songs / in crowded restaurants, / skimming lyrics in favor / of memory; /