Temescal Wash & Dry by Samantha Niedzielski

Winner of the 2017 Los Angeles Review Poetry Award, judged by t’ai freedom ford

The orange cone in the laundromat reads, piso mojado.
For every sixty white tiles there is one as green
as an organic avocado grown in Michoacán, cadillac of slippery skin and seed. Its creamy body
shaped like my abuelo’s ochre knees.
My abuelo, lover of details, you raised me a poet — taught me to fold the streets of my hometowns under my palms like cloth napkins, to keep a letter behind each tooth. In the foyer, we leaned upon
the lips of a fountain fashioned bare, upon
tiles you arranged like shelved soap, inventing
flowers the size of faces and kisses the size of hands,
in the waters reflection, our heads were two ceramic pots that could laugh. I’m remembering how softly to breathe when listening for the words panting in my chest. I am staring at my palms, unfolding them now is to touch myself, if only in layers. I’m beginning to recognize
this tiled paradise under my feet.

Mexican-American poet and painter Samantha Niedzielski was born in Atlanta, Georgia. She since then has lived in Ohio, California, and Mexico. Her work combines memoir, geography and observation. She has studied with Marty McConnell, Junse Kim, and Kim Addonizio, and is currently working as a bookseller in Berkeley, CA while writing her first collection of poetry.