Love Letter to Horta

The room that I shared with my mom shared the wall with the kitchen so every morning my body begged for a couple more minutes but I could already hear the supposed-to-be whispers from the ladies having their tea and cafecito and still I love women.

A scream turned laughter in the night, snoring that wouldn’t rest, hour showers and still, I love women.

Every moment an event, introductions to sons and grandchildren, being the only one stressed and still I love women.

I was a younger one of the bunch which meant holding my hand out on cobblestone paths through the town and having good eyes, and I still I love women.

Being a niña a mija, my clothes took too long to dry so my thongs were out on the terrace, I washed dishes too slowly so it wasn’t my chore, my white pants were too see-through, and still, I love women.

Some of their stories shocked me in a giddy girl way and others made me sad in an ugly cry way and still, I love women.

Feeling too young to have anything to share, getting frustrated with my Spanish, missing my bed, and still, I love women.