Poem for my Mother who Just Got Home from Work
isabel estrada lugo

​You are reading the translated version of this
which won’t be the same.

Waiting for you to finish each line, I remember
that poetry wasn't on the GED,

that there were only so many words you could teach me
those years in the mobile home

that you remember so sadly. Before furniture
and English class, we knew nothing but

sitting on the rough carpet, tugging at the
syllables of Goodnight Moon.

But when you were younger and
knew everything, there were barely

parts of the bull you didn’t eat.
Heart. Testicles. Ears. Nothing

gone to waste. Ran home from school
to eat the part of the stomach that

looked like a book. Said it could fit into
my palm. I dream this always.
​And there’s nothing I don’t see.

SEEK WITH CAUTION
ZAJI COX

Isabel Estrada Lugo is a sophomore at Hollins University. Her work has previously appeared in Litmus, Cargoes, and TRACK//FOUR. When she’s not writing, she enjoys browsing the candy aisle at the local Mexican grocery store and taking pictures of strange looking trees. She’s from South Carolina.

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After seven years of competitive gymnastics, Zaji Cox shifted to dance at fifteen, training in as many styles as she could at local Portland studios. At seventeen, she narrowed her focus to ballet and contemporary, training and performing with the Ballet Repertory Theatre of New Mexico and the New Mexico Ballet Company. After studying dance as a minor at the University of Houston, she returned to Portland to join Polaris Dance Theatre for their 2016-2017 season. She has been a guest dancer with various companies and live musicians, locally and out-of-state. A writer as well, in her art she seeks to explore the process of self-reflection and the complexity of self-discovery.