“Embuste,” Abuela said.
A more polite way to say
“Lie!” or “Liar!” Not true
that story told—a tale
spun from cobwebs
and a trail of smoke,
so flimsy it crumbled
with the weight of
its fiction. Embuste,
gentle reprimand, anger
demoted to delight,
perhaps even pride.
Not for the brazenness
but for the embroidery.
And then her lively eyes
narrowed, warning us:
less hasty stitching
next time. Sturdier thread.
Copyright © 2026 by Rigoberto González. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 17, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
