The people’s chauffeur rushes through traffic, Diablo Rojo clips off cars. Packs in people and more people. Apurate mamí, the driver pleads, then turns up his radio. I know I’m slower than the abuelas who know how to rush a bus, juggle coins and cash. After a week in Panamá, I learn everyone calls you mamí. I want to say I’m no one’s mamí. I remember grandma’s words to grandpa, I’m no one’s nana. Inside the bus there’s just enough room to hold hands, feet, legs, shoulders, and arms stiff like toy soldiers. There’s no room to breathe or relax. Definitely no space to sway or dance. My sister ignores the crush of bodies, shows she can cha cha to Sandra Sandoval. One small step forward, three back. Until the next stop pushes her to a halt. A woman grabs her bags and children. Her blue- shadowed eyes motion for me to take her seat. I stand and sway. Music makes room on a crowded bus in Panamá.
Melinda Palacio’s novel, Ocotillo Dreams, received the Josephine Miles Award. Her poetry book, How Fire Is a Story, Waiting, a finalist for the Milt Kessler and Paterson Prizes, received First Prize in Poetry at the 2013 ILBA. The cover portrait included in Arte Para La Gente is by artist Margaret Garcia. In 2015, her work was featured at Academy of American Poets. Bird Forgiveness is her latest poetry book.
**We do our best to preserve the integrity of each poem; however, due to programming limitations, some poems may read differently on a mobile phone and in certain browsers. For best viewing, use Chrome on a desktop/laptop.