MEDINA, CELL 219, YOU HAVE A VISITOR

MEDINA, CELL 219, YOU HAVE A VISITOR

By Azul Sanchez

Aqui estoy otra vez Apa 

Driving down el 101 to get to your arms 

Bobby Pulido plays in my 97’ Toyota Corolla 

Paso por las montañas y veo los campesinos trabajando la tierra 

I arrive and wait for the bus to take us to your part of the prison 

The same officer drives it; he looks older, more tired 

I take off my sweater, shoes 

They take my ID 

The metal doors open 

“Table 22,” says the officer 

The inmate in charge of cleaning the visitation room recognizes me He says, “I thought your dad would be home by now.” 

“Naw, we’re still here.” 

“3 years since I’ve seen you, huh?” 

“Yea, today’s the day!” 

I rush to the vending machine hoping for your favorite: agua de coco There’s none 

I settle for something else: Body Armor peach mango flavor 

I only have $1 left, not enough for popcorn 

I’m the second visitor in the room 

But you still haven't come out 

Mi corazon llora as I see everyone else embrace 

Y esas lágrimas llenan mis ojos 

How will it feel to hug you again? 

To touch the hands that once held my entire body between them 

3 years, and so much has happened 

I miss sharing popcorn with you 

Door opens, door closes 

Still, you are not here

But I know you will be 

Inmates here do not wear orange, they wear my name: Azul 

Ya se me acabo papel para escribir 

Door opens, door closes 

Here you come.

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