By Natalia A. Pagán Serrano

for Morgan Corona

by now you’ve noticed she collects things: ink on her arms
pulpous paper words in neat boxes dried chiles in mason
jars kept behind a secret-wall-door, a specimen gallery. a
glug of oil in a cast-iron pan. she lists them for you: chiles
de árbol, chile guajillo, onions. the smell makes your eyes
water. she promises she’s not making it sou spai-cee,
crinkles her eyes at you. roughly-chopped garlic and
sesame seeds. once the kitchen is full with it she holds the
pan over the blender and you spoon it in. remember to
toast the peanuts. she stands over the blender with a bottle
of apple cider vinegar. you pass her the small wooden bowl
of salt. she says it smells like her abuela’s house and you
nod because yes, it feels like it for once, doesn’t it?

Natalia A. Pagán Serrano is a poet from Trujillo Alto, Puerto Rico. She has an MFA in Poetry from Oregon State University, and her narrative-based work is obsessed with memory, colonialism, identity, and home-ness. She currently resides in Oregon with her fiancé and her cat. Natalia’s poems have been published by Portland Review, Santa Ana River Review, The Journal of Latina Critical Feminism, and Boricua en la Luna: An Anthology of Puerto Rican Voices.