I am trying to be a fly
on the wall of this city —
attracted to light but staying
in shadow. I speak
when I need to, in Spanish,
speak Spanish and say
I’ve only spoken spanish
today. I read Neruda
on the bus and nearly miss
my stop — entre la sombra y
el alma. I am trying to love
this city like a local, but
I have never been local
to anywhere. At home,
a girl asks for directions but
I’m lost, as always, lost
for words. Here, a girl asks
if I’m from Brazil — I say no
but think of that painting,
the one with the nude figure
and the cactus, the figure out
of proportion, the cactus
a vibrant green. It’s from Brazil,
but I’m not. On the bus, once,
not-quite-empty, I saw a man
and woman, smiling, facing away
from the window. The woman
wore a leather jacket, so red
it mirrored the traffic light
we had stopped at. I wanted to take
a picture. Instead, I let the light
reflect on the frame
of my glasses, drifted back
to shadow — how else
to remain a ghost?
Maya Walker studies Creative Writing, Cultural Studies, Spanish, and Latin American Studies at Chatham University. When not writing, you can find her on Instagram or in the nowhere land between Baltimore and Pittsburgh.