Song of the Mockingbird: My Journey with Josefina

I tell Josefina I’d love to see the memory book, and she jumps up and scurries from the room, returning with a little book bound in soft, brown leather. I turn the pages while she looks over my shoulder, taking in little drawings, handwritten poems, and quotes. Josefina points to a few lines written in careful script, a song Mamá used to sing to her when she was a baby. She sings softly:

Josefina pauses, her face lit up by firelight, and I smile at her quiet amazement. She doesn’t have a picture of her mother, but she has these words. Clara says she remembers the song, too, from when they’d all listen to Mamá sing it to Josefina in her cradle. Francisca’s eyes shine. She remembers it, too. My throat aches: I left behind a city I loved, but the people I love are still with me.

Josefina asks if I can draw what my home was like. Tía Dolores flips through the pages, pulls out the ink-stained last page, and hands it to me. A thought drifts through my head. Paper seems rare here, and yet they want me to draw something. Josefina hands me a large feather, its point sharpened, and sets a jar of ink beside me.