Nilsa Mariano

Dominoes

Every morning we stretch and practice balance because we don’t know how to fall magically slow.
News reports warn the virus is now pandemic. Yesterday’s green lawn is today covered with snow.
We make appointments and plan our run for vaccinations. Snowflakes fall outside our window as we open
the painted wooden box, crafted in Puerto Rico and shuffle red, white and blue tiles. I swear the click
and clack of the tiles are warning omens. Today is another domino day and the gringo is beating me
at the game I claim came from my ancestors. The silence of my pout is broken by the sound of a snowplow
threatening our mailbox.

He continues his imperialist wins in my cultural game. I caution myself to be a good sport to the one
you love. I curse in prayers, Dios fucking mio.

We watch the beautifully intricate snowflakes, knowing the blue and green hand shovels are waiting to
be put to work. News reports warn the virus is changing, evolving, spreading, knocking to get in.
He scatters the tiles and again wrecks my score. The announcer lists the number of dead and infected
by city and state, inside our house the wall of clocks tick and tock. I won't let him answer the door.

Nilsa Mariano studied at Brooklyn College and she has a Masters in Comparative Literature from Binghamton University. She did storytelling in local schools and performance poetry in the community. Nilsa grew up in East NewYork and Williamsburg, lives in Syracuse. She has been published in Stone Canoe, Five Minute Magazine and MicroFiction Monday and MuleSkinner Magazine. Nilsa had a story published in the inaugural editon of Chicken Soup for the Latino Soul. Thank you for your consideration.