Melina Casados

Blue mountains still sing in diaspora

You’re either born
or made in western NC.
If you’re lucky, 
it’ll be summer
and temporary.

I met community foragers 
during gardening errands. 
It’s town culture, folk culture. 
Appalachian twang 
greetings, the li in my name 
becomes lay and I do 

one night on the pavement 
when I can still feel the warmth 
the sun left behind.
A white girl showed me the milky way. 

She drove me everywhere in her Prius. 
I love/hated the way she speeded
through mountain curves. 
My trust costs released 

responsibility. 
She got to live 
in her apartment for free, so long 
as she maintained the land 
for the rich lesbian couple. 

Everyone’s a lesbian in this town, she says. 
I meet a horse for the first time, 
I understand why horse girl is an identity. 
There’s pottery everywhere.
I imagine my alternate lives, 
groundkeeper, horse girl, 
potter, painter, rich
white lesbian. 

People can be both city 
and not at the same time. 
People trust me 
in their homes. A painter 
takes an interest in me,
so I become the town 
pet sitter. I learn 
I’m allergic to cats. 
It was my first time living 
alone. 
The señoras at the market ask me de dónde eres, 
something I’d also like to know. 

I get darker, smaller, cemetery groundkeepers 
ask me where I learned to run like I do. 
The most weightless 
I’ve felt was running down
that gravel path. 
I wondered how it would feel 
if I knew I couldn’t trip, 
but maybe my fear made it satisfying?

My skin means something here, hair too. 
My Spanish gets better as I translate flyers, 
market conversations. I don’t know 
what my people means anymore. 

Neighbors will pay good money 
if they hear you say you like weeding.
I think that’s what I remember most

– fingers digging, finding, 
pulling with firm gentility 
until I felt the dirt disperse
as the roots release themselves to me.

Cansada is almost Canada, I am almost Canada

take me to a beach 
and fold me up tightly
feel inclined fall back forth 
when you swing my arm 
the most fun thing to play 
with is my hair
learn to braid
tell me I look better
bound promise 
you’ll feel deeply
convince me
to look enough 
beyond the present
bring me your audacity
tell me 
why I went to Brooklyn
why I know your grocery store 
what your apartment looks like,
feels like, consider me lucky 
your breath hasn’t touched my sheets
that I can’t see you in my mirror
what’s the point in being hot
if you’re not around to see it
buy more anyway I guess 
hair accessories wait 
for snow help me forget 
what a beach even looks like, 
feels like

A daughter of Central American immigrants, Melina Casados grew up in North Carolina. Now living in Brooklyn, NY, she is an MFA candidate at Brooklyn College where she is also teaching English. Melina currently serves as the poetry editor for Snapdragon: A Journal of Art & Healing.