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Gracias a la Vida

We peel hundreds of apples. The trees were generous to us even though it's only their second year in the ground. It's a strange feeling to have my mother cook in my kitchen when she was never one to cook in her own. She's humming a song as the apple slices fill the bowl, I recognize the tune and set up a playlist.
We sing:
"Every time I kiss you doesn't taste like enough, every time I have you, I go mad, and every time I see you  I find a reason to continue living, and every time I see you it's like discovering the universe. I love you, you are the center of my heart. I love you, like earth loves the sun."
"How do I even know the words to this?" I ask. She says we listened to them. I grew up with Jose Luis Perales, Alberto Cortez, Luis Eduardo Aute, Silvio Rodriguez, Inti-Illimani, and Mercedes Sosa as the soundtrack of my childhood on records and cassette players, back when there was only a side A and B to every story. The apple peel stains our finger…

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