Sketch of My Sister’s Visit Last Night

So déjame contarte un cuento, una historia es que lluvia    rain       agh       what’s the word                     tey tey at?                       eltiw? Ateltiw? Last night, Atelti came after class. Siempre sabes when she’s here because you hear hail on the windows, the flapping of the leaves, las hojas, ne iswat AND ne kwajkwawit, los árboles, trees I figure I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that she visited seeing how dark I was, un ichan of  negro, of  zájtik. And zájtik isn’t bad. Sometimes it brings rainbows, arco irises, kusamalut Atelti told me something she heard in El Salvador, algo de mis abuelos y abuelas, both alive and dead Ne muyut shipanu sempa pal ne kali pal ne takamet, siwatket, Ajkawat ne neshti ka ne ejekat tik ne weytepet, ne tiupan, Ne ilwikat, ken titajtani — tzalan ne ashal, ne apan, ne ujti The fly enters every house of man, woman leaving ashes to wind for the volcano, church Sky, how do you ask — in between sand, river, road So what does it mean? Where’s the answer at the end? The moral? The hail rattling outside: clattaraka araka araka araka araka — cla ttaraka taraka taraka taraka taraka taraka ka ka ka kuh kuh and me without my raincoat. “Don’t be outside by the time I leave,” I said. “Y qué,” she said as more hail hit the windows, a few pellets falling onto the carpet inside. And it continued. And she added some rain a bit after. When it was time to leave I stepped outside it still rained and was offered an umbrella to the car which I refused. Mi hermana, Atelti, was there to stay. So I thought, “Get   wet. If  you’re so desperate Talk Dígame” And she rained And vapor seeped out from my buttons