The night far gone,
past the moments of “madrugada” where
day stretched over darkness
I hadn’t slept anticipating her arrival
perhaps with Chinese orchids from the all-night deli.
Lately, daybreak had changed.
The cabs arrive later, she nestles a six-pack of
her favorite Colombian beer.
I wait for her songs that could lull me to sleep
being so gloomy and romantic.
For moments there is no speaking, a bird chirps
not knowing the morning is not ready for it.
She reaches for the red & yellow tin, “Once a gift” she
reminds me “from the one woman I truly loved”
(I am deflated.)
The “tabacito”, herb bought from El Chamo
hangs languidly from her lips
bottled beer warms in her vice.
Sweat reeked of 14 hours
over hot stoves and skillets.
“I was reminiscing,” she tells me, longing for home
land of volcanoes and adventures.
“My mother is dying,” she whispers.
I lie listening, smelling her fingers
imbedded with the aroma of garlic and fish
the thick waves of her hair oily and damp
fell on my pillow.
She always began with “I am the youngest of six…”

Contributor: Samantha Martinez