- The Marabu Makes It to America After All
And the batá makes it to America after all. After all his hands swelled with each machete swing, years of marabu chopped and burned, the artisan makes it to America after all
to fold napkins, butter bread, spend work breaks pulling goatskin taut into drumheads. After all the alligator heads turn west, the palm tree key chains straighten their names and the tourists queue for dinner and sunsets,
while the artisan battens rattan ropes around the rims. After all the port rests a ship on her tongue, crates striped like peppermints, charcoal lumps absolved and absolving
the marabu’s relentless crawl. Another governor snarls. After all another lump to stoke the restaurant’s grill, the artisan shaking his hands in prayer, a turn of the batá like an hourglass. [End Page 69]
jessica guzman alderman is a Cuban-American writer from southwest Florida. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Pleiades, Copper Nickel, Sycamore Review, Passages North, and elsewhere. A doctoral student at the University of Southern Mississippi’s Center for Writers, she reads for Memorious.