A Sprig of Mint
Translated by Marvin Najarro It was eleven thirty in the morning when, after the rain had stopped, Sabina got a whiff of fresh mint, and of freshly cut sprigs of cilantro wrapped in a tortilla fresh from the comal; the taste of tomato juice dripping from the corners of her lips, made her miss her native Olopa, Chiquimula, Guatemala, immensely, as well as her childhood years when the family was together. It is a hot day at the beginning of May, a rare thing, since summer arrives in June with its dog days and heavy rain. The hot weather makes her travel…