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Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Rigoberto González: Poetry Foundation Blog

My aunt Marta, the woman who married my father’s brother, who worked most of her life sorting carrots at a packinghouse alongside my mother and grandmother, wrote a poem. My aunt Marta, who took lessons in cooking desserts, who had me read and translate recipes on the side panels of cereal boxes, wrote a poem. My aunt Marta, barely literate and always laughing, whom I’ve seen cry only once, when I came to visit her after she separated from my uncle and was run out of town by my disgruntled relatives who were furious at her for bringing the González family its first divorce, wrote a poem.

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