Poem-a-Day

     There’s nothing left except to try.
     —Mrs. Whatsit in A Wrinkle in Time

I tried, believe me, I did, but my cheap Caribou jeans
and Buster Brown polos couldn’t match the prestige
of Levi’s, Nikes, Lacoste worn by my fifth-grade classmates
who visited Magic Kingdom every summer. There was
Claudia with her button-y nose and perfect smile;
blonde and green-eyed Caroline. Despite her rumpled clothes,
she looked like a queen. And then Federico, who pulled
my braids and boasted about meeting Mickey Mouse. I said
mice are dirty, they poop everywhere, will make you sick.
You’d know, he sneered—I wished him gone. Abuela told me
about giving mal de ojo to a woman who spoke ill of her.
The woman got sick, almost died. One day Federico fell,
pierced his knee on a sharp piece of metal. I whispered in his ear
as he wailed: I don’t need to go to Magic Kingdom. Magic is in my blood.