Melena Del Sur

How is it that

I feel connected

to a place that I’ve never been,

or seen, with my own eyes?

A place where I could only look

at the lines of the streets

on Google Maps.

With the words Melena Del Sur

faintly hovering over an empty

dirt baseball field and a church square

void of life, shining brightly

through the scratched screen

of my iPhone.

And to the people I see

in the black & white 

film of the old photos

my mom keeps hung up

on the refrigerator,

near the kitchen stove

as she cooks,

held by faded magnetic picture frames,

that stay weakly connected

to the rubberized gasket.

Their names and stories unspoken,

held secret to all,

until I ask my mom— “who's that?”