Briteworks

She’s singing in the kitchen right now, in Spanish,
in a voice so soft I barely pick up every other word.
Something about falling in love during winter, when the air is cold
and I wonder if this song is about me.
I watch her hips move in circles around the kitchen, dragging the mop with them. No, not dragging. The mop swishes and sways over the floor, a languid sea of soapy water. She is teaching the mop how to dance.
«Tanto tiempo disfrutamos de este amor…»
this one I know, and I starting humming softly with her.
When she gets to my desk, I pour her a cup of tea.
«Para mí?»
Yes, I say, adding honey. I poured it for you.
She looks for our boss, but the office is empty,
so she takes the cup and her eyes close as she takes her first sip.
I wait for them to open and watch her say, «delicioso».
Sometimes, when she’s wiping my desk, we talk about books.
Her favorites are the ones about warrior women, healers and queens.
Women who fight and love honestly, aggressively, sin miedo.
I tell her, those
are my favorites too.
On Tuesdays, when she’s dusting the blinds behind me, we talk about food. I tell her that I made chile rellenos for my boyfriend last weekend and she told me how to make him texmex enchiladas. Told me her secrets for loving a man. For really loving him, hard and strong, especially during the winter when the air is cold.
Most days,
she comes in quietly and starts cleaning quickly,
efficiently, with the skill and precision of experience.
She’ll smile at me and we’ll say,
hello!
how was your weekend?
I’ve got a new recipe for you.
Her arms strong and in perpetual motion, her eyes determined. She has pride in her work, the kind that seems to be disappearing in the world, and a smile to match. She is a warrior, a healer.
A queen.