Another Gulf Motel.
Richard Blanco's Reading at City College, 4/24/2013
You asked me to come to the Gulf Stream Motel, but I had been there years ago, in Miami; it may have had another name, but the same fatigued facade shadowed by huge high-rises the Fontainebleau Hotel. It may have had different ghosts, no tios or tias abuelo or abuela, but uncles, aunts, grandparents who schlepped around in Woolworth's attire; you say housecoats I say schmatas; and my aunts had Hershey's kisses instead of mints. The smells were different not white rice with picadillo, but schmaltz, lots of it, on rye bread on my grandmother's worn hands, even the salami sandwiches had schmaltz added, so when I ran on the beach I was known by my odors- sweat and sour, no dinners at diners; I know you know what I mean. 2- At night there was the humming of the broken fan as the stars sent us their signals: to remember not to forget these familias had other homes before this one, and swimming in the ocean no matter how vigorously would never bring them back.
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|Author:||Laskin, Pamela L.|
|Publication:||Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noire|
|Date:||Sep 22, 2013|
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