Leora Fridman is a writer, translator and educator living in
Massachusetts. Her recent and forthcoming publications are
included in Lumina, elimae, The New Delta Review, Jellyfish, and
others. She is an MFA candidate at UMass-Amherst.

Even Feminist Chicanas Have to Have a Hero-Man or;
Chilanga Banda Meets the Women of a Bygone Book Club

1. Primero de Mayo

The crowd eased its children
forward. They pulled back
anything of value, and left
the sacks limp in front. It wasn't
that they were selfish. It was that
they couldn't explain altruism to even

themselves. Giving came with loudspeakers
and the odd telenovela pregnancy-hoax.
Supermodel feet did not make
sounds. Even their heels were considered

2. Segundo de Mayo

All our flavors have undergone vast
rededication, he shouted. The crowed eased
its children forward and willingly
formed squares. Receptacles of paper

were raised or filled with sour sugary granules
resembling Abuelita Berta's version
of the old country's flan. Averse,
the granules only mocked it, stiffer
and lactose-free.

3. Tercero de Mayo

Refreshments were on their
way, but the citizens were unaware
of the distance to the plant of savory
Mexican ice-treats, the kind processed
from the leftovers of deep-sea divers
who, by no fault of their own, had missed
the coral by miles.

4. Quarto de Mayo

I've needed your hand for hours, the tangled
boy said. He wore a t-shirt with blue-plated vowels
and a Chicano rock-band that had starred
only in foreign films. He had recently taken
to stepping on others' white

sneakers. The crowed eased its children in shapes
that any one could have guessed but not
one person thought to try simply
working smaller. Or in clay.

5. Cinco de Mayo

Nothing about her could be lifted. Her wrists
wandered south on their own, her heavy
fake-metal earrings linking a sun
and moon that hadn't met for months.
Blame mountain-trapped pollution. As
the supplies dragged, her surrounding citizens
began to train by racing. The calves

of the men sprang forward. Contrary to classical
Mariachi behavior, she thought always
that she occupied the middle space. She specified
her generation number and in which institution
her parents had first begun correcting vowels, knotting
cassette-tape and over-salting rice. They pressed up
tenement-style. They never wondered
about their wounds.

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