candle wax dribbles
Finish the last box of multiplication as the sound of howling gets louder. A man’s muffled screams and a dog’s passing bark. Look up to see the flicker dancing with the shivers up my spine, and the last pair of eyes escorted by dreams. Another night of being the last one awake. Note to self for the morning: tell Papi about the screams.
3am coffee
My stomach scolds me as I replay the image of tomatoes rolling down the sidewalk at the bus stop. Glossy crimson cousins, mocking me with their freedom. Sister won’t stop crying, I squeeze her hand tighter. Stop. Focus on the chapter. Just one more hour. One more sentence. One more chance to say goodbye: after all, Mexico in ‘94 loves to show you the door while the last hope of your people is assassinated in the kitchen.
Tom Cruise poster
Putting my tears on a diet, because God knows I’ve been gluttonous. Incident culprit: the guy from salads grabbed your ass and laughed, laughed even harder when you smacked him with the broom. In Los Yunaites, we don’t cry over silly troubles such as these, too much to be grateful for, too much work to do. Brother downs another six pack and offers a bump to the bald one passed out by the door. Distraction: count the pores on Tom’s nose, and wishing he were the color of your past lovers, coffee with just a splash of milk.
brick phone ringing
Como chingas guey! No jodes!!
Couldn’t he be serious for once? A deserved collapse, the couch feels like clouds today. The sun is beginning to set but I just took my first breath of the day. He made it. Swam across countries to recall Papi shoving us into the river, quite the effective method for teaching a kid to swim. This gentle current will always carry us back to where we need to be. Let’s just hope it isn’t made of booze this time, currents pulling him out to sea. In prison, he got his children’s names tattooed across his chest.
stale body of Christ
On my knees, in these pews, is when safety blankets me. Early-morning memories of when I still had her here to gossip to, to cry to. The Holy Infant tells me Papi is okay and La Virgin reminds me to bow down. Not to her, but to him, the American husband that brings me out of hiding. I still shake when driving past cop cars, do they see the cactus written on my forehead? My skin the color of their 7-Eleven bean burrito?
children’s neti pot
I put some lipstick on the cat to make her smile and she kisses the brown of my belly button,
Brotherrrr, come ooooout!
A few years back, the in-laws would complain that she’s stuck up. But how can a baby be stuck up? Today, she asks me why her Mexican cousins can’t come visit. She fixed the doll house just for them. All I can do is apologize, lie that they’re preparing quinceñeras, and give her tiny tortilla circles I cut using the lid of a jar. Here, your dolls are getting hungry.
standing desk
Click checkout on the ergonomic keyboard. Cat purring nearby and another waits to pounce on the printer. The doctor said the arthritis is most likely hereditary or from my youth making cards and knitting for pennies, the feet pain from exclusivity to hand-me-down shoes. I take one more sip of coffee, imagining the stray grains in my cup are the ashes of ancestors. Descend the carpeted stairs, mindful of the knees, rinse the mug with a clink into the dishwasher. Check the time, 4:30pm, just enough time for a walk. A secret wish lingers for enchilada requests or dirty dishes, the chatter of growing pains.