Machu Picchu 
 

When I was eleven, I got on a plane

with my Mother to visit her Father’s homeland

Peru. Too young to appreciate the richness of history,

I was intrigued by mystery and strange sights. 

We traveled from morning to dusk 

in a sticky-heat van with blue carpeted seats

that held too many memories from past travelers. 

When we arrived in Cusco, the air was thin, and

it was hard to breathe, and it made me sick;

I didn’t like that it distinguished me from 

the natives – we had the same blood.

My mother and I decided to scale the grand mountain

and ventured on toward the summit. 

Through the thick forests and steep climbs, fresh air never 

seemed so unattainable. We reached our destination, 

and it was a sight I’d never forget. Plain grass and 

oddly placed bricks. I smelled it first, but then I saw it.

A llama created the most beautiful structure I had beheld:

a mountain of soft milk duds – the pile a foot high. 

​

- Misha Puello Brasil