On the Shore of Lake Atitlán, Apparently I Ruined Breakfast

Ariel Francisco

On the edge of another blue world

the lake looms like salvation. Over
coffee, my mom and tía speak excitedly

about the vibrant villages along the shore,
how you can only get there by boat
across the lake’s beautiful depths, how

the volcanos stand piously over the water,
how each village is named for one of the twelve
apostles. I ask, with complete sincerity,

if that means one is named for Judas.
The waitress brings our food. My mom

and tía eat slowly with side-eyes and silence.

Copyright © 2025 by Ariel Francisco. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 6, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.

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about this poem

“This poem is from a trip to Guatemala, my mom’s homeland, in 2022. I hadn’t been back since I was seventeen years old, and it seems that teenage immaturity returned to me. This poem tries to capture what I often do in real life: upend a beautiful moment with something flippant. Sorry, mom! Love you!”
—Ariel Francisco

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