My first memory was one I could not understand
until years later: playing with towering animals
under a palm tree, all around me gentle eyes,
feathery green fronds,
and sticky tidbits of fruit
stuck to cow lips.
The cattle were smelly
and friendly,
just as hungry
for palm fruit
as I was
for milk.
Where did Mamá go?
I was too young for a sense of time,
but somehow I expected to be exiled forever
in that musical tangle of thumping hoofs
and clackety horns, my own wailing voice
adding a flutelike magic
to the noise.