Ode to Tilly

Joseph Cornell’s Tilly Losch

In fifth grade she floated away inher doll’s teacup over snow crestedmountains, red ball and string inhand, her hair curled too tight tovibrate in the wind; a ballerina, hermother told her not to touch me orshe would turn to mud, after schoolwe ran between orchards, Abuelopicked oranges as Abuela rolledpillows of tortillas for our arroz yfrijoles.That summer we snuck out to catchfireflies and race dirt roads, barefeet falling over giggles,caterpillars crawled into our armsand training bras as her fathercrawled into her bed like the prairiedogs that dotted Tio’s front yard,before she transferred to theprotestant school where the pastorwould measure her skirt with hisfingers and she started smokingbehind the water tower, tellingeveryone my parents were illegalsand I an anchor baby; my paperenemy.Was my best friend until she calledme a wetback; porcelain cracked,her centipede legs popped fromunder a blue skirt, repeated hate sheheard her brother say when hecame home smelling of tequilafrom the ranchero bar becausea brown skinned girl turned himdown.