Late Night Poem For Mami: “¿Cuando Te Encontraré?”

Salí a buscarte

Moví macetas y ramas

Pero no te encontré

Entré por si habías regresado

Eché abiertas puertas y cortinas Iluminando hasta los más remotos rincones

Aún así no di contigo

Me pregunté

Cómo es que en nuestra casa

Llena de tí y de mí

Puedo sentir tu presencia

Tan inconfundible como mi propia mirada

Y no encuentro la manera de abrazarte

Siempre estás conmigo

Siempre estarás conmigo

Pero siempre tan lejos de mí.

“de si yo sin ti me quedo / de si tú sin mi te vas”

I promise to water your flowers

I'll tend to the chayotes and cilantro

I'll never forget (again) to buy the good soil

And I won't be lazy with the spade

I promise your bougainvillea will be tended to

With the delicate care I saved for my guitar

Your pino will be trimmed regularly

And your naranjo will never have seen better days

But maybe I should track a little mud through the back door

Neglect to scrape my tierra-caked shoes on the jerga

And maybe I'll let the wind close the patio door with a slam

And wince, looking to your face for my regaño

Will you scold me for that and shake your head like you used to

And go back to cleaning the beans and rice?

Will you look at me in the eye then, and say jokingly, "No tengas cuidado"

Would you tell me how that reminds you of a morsel of your past?

I promise I'll listen

I'll be so still, so patient

I promise not to rush you along

Even though it's the third time this visit you've told me this story

I promise I won't mind

The casual gossip

The unfounded theory

The occasional sideways prayer

If you just promise me you won't leave me

By myself with your memories

As you sit, a stranger with a face I love so well

Bah, it's a selfish, childish wish

I won't voice it aloud

I'll just promise to water your flowers

And tend to the chayotes and cilantro

*Note: title is from the prayer “Himno de Laura: Estáte, Señor, Xonmigo”, one of Mami's favorite prayers.

Poem: Confiture

The confitures

The coconut candies

Family recipes

A history lost

I rarely speak her name now

Though her name is one of my own

And I never thought to ask any of it

But what did I know of mortality at a safe and happy eleven?

I wish I had

Now, of course.

Now that it's useless and impossible to ask

Now that my eyes are clear and my heart open

But the memories

The sound of her voice

The flow of her nightgowns

The scent of the confitures

The gritty, too sweet, to perfect texture of the coconut candies

Those are mine forever